


Grief Is The Price We Pay For Love

by Sarie_Fairy



Category: The X-Files
Genre: After Emily, Angst, Comfort, Confessions, Dana Scully Angst, Episode: s05e07 Emily, F/M, First Time Sex, Grief/Mourning, Kissing, Love, MSR, Oral Sex, Post Season 5 Episode 7, RST, Sex, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2020-11-23 09:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20889542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarie_Fairy/pseuds/Sarie_Fairy
Summary: Mulder has just pulled up at Scully's apartment after they returned home following Emily's funeral.This happens after The X-Files season 5, episodes 7, Emily.These first few chapters aren't explicit, however, the end of the story will be.





	1. After Emily

Scully hadn’t felt this vulnerable, or this alone, for as long as she could remember. (Well, she could remember, but it was too painful to think back on.) Even though she was surrounded by her family, it was so evident that they didn’t understand her and, in many ways, she felt left behind. Or worlds ahead. Or somewhere to the side.

She felt responsible for her mother. Too responsible to ever tell her when there was anything she wasn’t handling. After she had disclosed to her mom that she was infertile, and only by way of explanation for her behaviour around Tara, her very pregnant sister-in-law, she began to break down. She pulled herself together enough though, she thought, for her mom to believe she was okay. Handling it all.

Scully was aware of everything her mom had been through; losing a husband and daughter, and nearly losing Scully herself to cancer. She vowed never to put her through anything like that again; if she had the power not to.

She struggled to find or perhaps allow intimacy with her family. She wasn’t quite sure where she fit, in their diminished numbers. The two she had been closest to, taken away. No confidence anymore if there was space to fall. Maybe nobody to catch her if she did.

It had been a strange Christmas period at her older brother Bill’s house. The feelings she had surrounding her inability to bear children, forced to the surface due to her proximity to Tara’s expectant form. Prior, she had done her usual Scully best and buried them down. Those desperate feelings gripped their claws in deeper with the unlikely discovery of a child, her biological child it turned out, created from stolen ova. The discovery had been confronting and bewildering and, even though she happened on the information with her family bearing witness, she felt alone in her pursuit. Ultimately, she just felt alone. Misunderstood by her mother; it wasn’t about trying to bring Missy back. Judgement from her brother - for pursuing the case, the child, for just doing her job, for_working_. Hell, for choosing the FBI over medicine, as if her dead father had silently passed him that baton.

Mulder was the only person she felt understood her. Ironically, the moments when she needed him the most, were the times she found it the hardest to reach out, to ask for help. Be vulnerable. She had called him but hung up the phone when he picked up. She went to dial his number many times more but couldn’t go through with it. She was afraid. Not that he wouldn’t come, but that he would. That she would then have to face the Mulder, it was hard not to love. The nurturing, comforting, Mulder. Because she did love him, she loved all of him. There were times, though, when his behaviour made it easier for her to ignore it. She often found herself in a battle over the reality of her feelings for him. How could she walk the line between her love for him and her need for professionalism? Constantly questioning about how intimate she should allow herself to be with her FBI partner. He did come when she finally called. Or course he did. She straddled that line by finding a practical, not emotional reason to bring him in.

As reassuring as it was to have him there, she felt his judgement too, at her choice to want to adopt Emily. She knew he was coming from a place of wanting her not to be hurt, but it was far too late for that.

Emily. Found and lost in the space of a little over a week. Scully’s chance to have her wish. To have that, which she had only so very recently found, had been stolen from her. It had come perforce, only to be extinguished by her own hand. The ultimate selfless sacrifice. A little girl’s peace antithetical to ever being a biological mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @iloveyourscratchybeard and @purrykat for the beta.


	2. Why didn’t you tell me?

It’d been a harrowing few days. The whole case. The adoption hearing. Emily’s death and subsequent funeral. Discovering that Mulder had omitted to tell her something he entirely should have. Her anger at him on hold; her need for him the past couple of days trumping it. Sitting in the passenger seat, she held her gold chain in her hand, rolling the small crucifix between her fingers. She pushed indents into her flesh as if the hard metal might somehow remind her that she was here, real, still in this space. Present. Not slipping away somewhere, like she did after Melissa. Her father. It was too hard a place to claw back from, too difficult a journey, so she was determined not to disappear there this time.

Mulder hadn’t said a thing the whole drive back to her apartment from the airport, not much on the plane either. He held her hand though, when she wept on the flight, put his hand over hers during the car ride home, as she looked out the window. He pulled up out the front of her place, killed the engine—neither of them making an effort to move.

“When did you know, Scully? About …?”

“My cancer,” she answered shortly, not looking at him. “I … before chemo I opted to have some ova removed.” She looked across to him then. She was contemplative, but there was some anger there too. “It didn’t work. I just … didn’t release any … for them to keep. Was told I was infertile.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, and she shot a glance at it, so he recoiled.

“Why didn’t I tell you?” She laughed. It was not a humoured laugh. It was an entirely ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me’ huff. “Why didn’t I tell you that, on top of maybe dying, I was baron? Tell you every possible personal thing? About my body? About something so private, so personal? You’re _really_ asking me that?”

“I just thought … I thought … we were closer than that, Scully.”

“What? Closer than what Mulder? It was very private._Is_very private. And … I didn’t know you’d want to know something like that … about me.” Mulder’s brows met, sorrow in his expression. He opened his mouth to speak, but Scully continued first. “And you keep things from me all the time. Case in point.” She said the last part under her breath but truly intended for him to hear it.

“Scully…” he began, hurt lacing his voice.

She didn’t let him interrupt. Shook her head. “And, it had nothing to do with you. My body had nothing to do with you.” She derided him. “But you, you were somehow completely justified in not telling me you found my ova!_My_ova, Mulder! I … I …” She failed to stem the flow of angry tears. Took a breath, attempted to level her voice. “I’m so …” she trailed off as she tried to steady her breathing. Catch herself. Will herself to gain back control. She wiped at her cheeks. She knew all of her anger wasn’t for Mulder. Probably none of it was. But there was no one else there. Her abductors, faceless. Above reproach.

She was still and quiet. Gaining measured breath once again. Both of them sitting side by side in the car. Him, self-consciously looking at her, not daring to tear his gaze away. Not knowing what to say. She, staring out beyond the windscreen. Her next words deliberate and low and commanding. “You should have told me. You don’t have the right … you don’t…” She shook her head as she spoke, “you don’t get to decide, Mulder, what I can and cannot handle. I’m not some fragile child that needs protecting.” She turned to him. Looked at him. “Is that how you see me?”

“No,” he said instantly, “no, not at all, Scully, no ... I…”

“Why_didn’t_you tell me?” He remained in her gaze. She focused on him as best she could through the sorrowful tears sitting at her lashes. She blinked, and they ran. Slid down the worn path and spilled onto her jacket. Dripped from her chin. She began to sob. “They took my ova, Mulder.” Sob. “They stole my unborn children from me! They stole my…” she stopped and swallowed. Her voice quieted as she dropped her head, “… and you knew.” A part of her was aware it was entirely unfair of her to lay all of this on him, but that unfledged part of herself, the jealous, stubborn component wanted to hurt him, wanted him to hurt too.

“I’m so sorry, Scully. I made a mistake. I_should_have told you.” He reached out for her. Found her hand and grabbed hold. She didn’t grip back. But she didn’t pull away either. “But, as I said, you were deathly ill when I found them, and, you already had so much to deal with...” He stopped talking, seemingly mid-sentence and Scully sensed he didn’t have anything else to say.

She nodded. Acquiesced. “Where are they?”

“What?”

“My ova.”

“On ice in a fertility clinic, downtown.”

“Not destroyed?” she said, looking up at him through her lashes.

“No. I … no Scully. They’re there.”

“Okay.” She let out a breath and some of her ire. Softened. “So, I kind of understand why you didn’t tell me immediately. I do. But why haven’t you told me since then? I mean,” she began, though didn’t finish, willing him to.

He rubbed the side of his face with his free hand. Then pinched at his bottom lip as he spoke. “I honestly went to tell you, Scully. A couple of times, I really did … but then …” He let go of his lip and replaced his fingers with his teeth. Biting down before he let go and spoke. “Honestly, I didn’t know how to tell you. I was ... Scully, I was so lost ... when you were sick. Um, the thought of telling you something, since you’ve been well, that might be hard for you to cope with ... that you might, I guess, disappear into … I just, I couldn’t. Yet.” He was waiting for a look of incredulity, but it never came; her face soft and empathetic, so he continued. “I … I’m not sure how to adequately tell you how it was for me, Scully...” His eyes steadied, captured her, his chest noticeably rising with a deeper intake of air, drawing the seat belt tight across his chest. “...how it was, nearly losing you.”

They looked at one another. Stared. The fact that Mulder made himself the subject of the loss of her, sitting in the air between them, further permeating her anger. The more her ire faded though, the more her desperation and sadness crept back in. They sat in silence a while. Still looking. Her hand in his, curling around and hanging on too.

The sun had inched down and been swallowed by the last of the light to the west. The remaining colour seeping out of the day, replaced in a slow blur, with the dark blue hues of a midwinter winter’s eve. Snowflakes had begun to fall and disappear on the windscreen, pulling their attention away from one another, their visible breath, illuminated by the streetlight into white puffs.

The cool began to bleed into the car, into Scully’s resolve, threatening to harden her already fragile composure. She needed to get inside. Get warm. The thought of being alone began to stir something within her; she did not want to - could not - visit. She knew she could ask Mulder for anything. He flew to be by her side, spoke on her behalf to convince the judge that she should be allowed to adopt Emily. Not because he thought she should, but because he knew she wanted it. He was clear that he thought it would cause her pain, was resolved about his worry for her own safety. At the hearing, she had been shocked by Mulder’s words. Not least of which that he already knew of her infertility; he understood better than her as to why. It was how he spoke that surprised her too; so much clarity, conviction, and passion. He very much spoke on her behalf. Knew her heart. He was compelling.

“Mulder. Would you come in with me?”

He turned to her the moment her words broke the silence.

“Yeah. Of course.”

“I mean … would you stay … over? I’m not sure … I just … I can’t be by myself right now.” Scully wasn’t looking at him as she said this. Her voice so quiet she worried Mulder would struggle to hear her above the snow falling on the glass.

“I’ll stay,” he said, reaching out and holding their coupled hands in his other, and squeezing. “Come on; I’ll get the bags.”

They both exited the car, and she began a slow trudge towards her apartment complex. Mulder removed not only her bag from the trunk but his too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @iloveyourscratchybeard and @purrykat for the beta.


	3. You Are Enough

Scully was still, stopped at her door. Waiting. Just standing there when Mulder caught up to her. A look of care and concern swept over his face. After putting their bags down, he reached around her and unlocked her door with his key. Wrapping his arm around her, he guided her inside and over to the sofa where she sat. He retrieved the bags, shut and locked the door, put his bag by the couch and eyed her as he walked past into her bedroom, leaving her things on a chair. Returning to the lounge, Scully was still in the same position so he slowly he made his way over, knelt in front of her. He took one of her hands in both of his searching her face, their eyes met. Seeing his concern, she offered a small turn-up of the corners of her mouth. “I’m fine, Mulder.” It sounded weak, and she knew he didn’t believe her. “I_will_be fine,” she offered instead.

“Scully, I want you to know you can talk to me. Okay? About anything. I want to know. I always want to know what’s going on with you.”

They stared at one another—a silent conversation. A peace made between them.

“It’s just,” she dropped her gaze to their hands, “I feel so empty.”

“_Scully_…” his voice full of sympathy.

“I just…,” she tried to grab onto her thoughts. “It’s all kind of ... I just … I never really realised how much I wanted it.”

“It?” he searched her face. “A child,” he answered for her.

She nodded. “It._It._All of it. What Bill and Tara have, what the American dream is supposed to be; procreation, children, a life shared with someone…” She bit her lip before finishing her thought, “_love._” She trailed off, averting her eyes from his.

“Oh, Scully. What are you talking about? You can still have that. Have love.” He leaned in. Placed a hand to her cheek. “Any man would be lucky to have you; do you understand that? You’re smart and caring ... and beautiful ... and…” He dipped his head to try and catch her gaze again. It worked. “You are a wonderful woman, Dana Scully,” he smiled.

Scully offered a small smile in return, with her mouth only. A gift for those beautiful words.

“You don’t get it, Mulder.” Her speech was slow. Soft. She always found it uncomfortable admitting her fears. Especially to him. She didn’t want him to know how much she needed him. How much she relied on him. She continued, “how could I ever expect any man to be with me now? I … I can’t have children. I mean, if I had been in a long term committed relationship when I found out this … news, that, I assume, would be different. We’d be in this together, but … but to try and start a relationship with someone, to expect someone is going to think that … that I am enough.” Her voice wavered.

She was getting hot. Words getting harder to form. She fought so hard to contain them, her tears, but they inescapably began to spill. She swallowed her feelings down. Willing her tears to recoil as well. She dropped her head, hoping Mulder hadn’t seen.

He gently reached out a hand and lifted her chin so he could inspect her expression. She allowed her face to raise slowly until finally, their eyes locked and saw her emotions reflected back at her.

“Oh, Scully.”

“I just really never knew I wanted it until it was taken away.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. “And for a moment, I had Emily and then …” The last word caught in her throat; her tears streamed down her face. Mulder knelt in closer, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drew her into his strong embrace. She leaned forward and turned her head to the side, her face on his chest. “...maybe Emily was my last best chance.”

He held her tight. Sadness and regret crinkled across his brow.

“I’m sorry,” she said, apologising for her emotions. Mulder rested his chin on the top of her head, removed one hand from his embrace, gently stroked her hair.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Scully. I’m so sorry that this happened to you. You don’t deserve any of it” His bottom lip pushed out into a sorrowful pout. He kissed the top of her head, left his lips there as he spoke. “You are a young woman who has so much to offer. Please know that Scully.” He leaned back from her. Held her hands in one of his as he gently wiped the moisture from her cheeks with the other. “And while I can’t begin to imagine what you’re feeling right now, please don’t give up. If you want a child, there are other ways…” He gently cupped her face in his hands, his eyes darting between her big, expressive, blue ones. “And Scully. You. Are. Enough.” She let out a sob. Mulder’s arms engulfed her once again. Another sob. A pained look formed across his face. He held her there, lips to the top of her head as she cried.

Once the sobbing had stopped, he unfurled her from his arms. Held her hands. “Scully. I’m going to run you a bath, okay.” He drew himself up in front of her and gained a small nod. He placed his hands on the sides of her face and gently pushed his lips to her forehead before saying, “Stay here, I’ll come back and get you when it’s ready”.

Scully didn’t say anything. She didn’t protest either, just curled her knees up to her chest and sunk down into the lounge. Gently continuing to cry.


	4. Bathtime and Wine

Mulder left Scully balled up on the lounge and found his way to her bathroom, thinking that a nice hot bubble bath might help her soak some of her anguish away. At the very least, he wished it would let her know that he was here for her. That, if she’d let him, he always would be.

He put the plug into the bath and turned on the tap, began examining her bottles of oils and bubble bath foam, taking off caps and smelling each. Many of the scents conjured a different Scully in his mind. He settled on a vanilla scented one. It reminded him of her when he would come at night. When he would chance upon a placid, home, pyjamaed, Scully. A Scully he wasn’t fully acquainted with but wanted with his whole heart to be. He poured the creamy liquid into the bath under where the water was flowing out of the faucet, creating an explosion of bubbly foam.

He went to her hall and retrieved a large fluffy towel from her linen cupboard, then headed into her bedroom, locating her bathrobe hanging behind her door. He returned to the bathroom and hung them both on hooks. He surveyed the scene, decided the lights were too bright. Scully had many partially burned candles dotted around the room. He found a lighter sitting in front of one of the candles and lit six of them. Turning off the lights, he decided the lingering amber glow was perfect. The bath looked just about right too. He felt the temperature with his hand and shut off the taps before returning to the lounge.

He found Scully curled up on her side with her eyes closed.

“Scully, your bath is ready,” he said quietly, so as not to startle her. It was apparent to him that she wasn’t asleep. She opened her, cried out eyes and looked up at him. She took his offered hand, let him draw her to her feet and lead her to the bath.

He caught the look of gratitude on her face once they entered the room. She smiled at him. Eyes too. “Thank you.” She spoke softly. He returned the same smile, squeezed her hand and let it go, turning to leave the room.

He turned back to ask, “Scully, I might make a cup of tea. Do you want one?”

She thought for a moment. Her bath time ritual usually involved wine.

“Um, actually, a wine, please. There should be some on the wine rack in the kitchen.” Then she added, “help yourself too.”

Mulder left the bathroom and pulled the door behind him.

Scully began disrobing. It had been a very long day, and she felt like she’d been in her clothes for all time, still wearing what she wore to the funeral that morning. She sighed deeply at the recollection of Emily. Then another thought entered her head. The last time she was in this bathroom, she didn’t even know she had a daughter, and now, she’d found and lost her. She remembered how this dance went. She’d been there before. After her father. After Melissa. The ‘last time I was here/ did this/ ate this/ listened to this song; my loved one was still alive’ dance. Eventually, your brain stops making these sad recognitions, partly because you begin to cover all that ground again without them, and partly it’s time. Just time.

After completely disrobing and pulling her hair back in a clip, she eased her body down into hot water, just as Mulder gently tapped on the door.

“I have your wine…um, do you want me to…”

“You can come in, Mulder. You used half a bottle of my bubble bath foam, so there’s nothing to see here.” Mulder could hear a slightly amused tone in her voice, and he was thankful for it. He pushed the door open with the back of one of his hands, as he held a wine glass in each. The sight of Scully’s head above the foam, eyes closed, lit in candlelight brought a flutter to his stomach. He set the wine down on the small stool next to the bath. Her eyes remained closed as he turned for the door.

“Stay? Talk to me?”

Mulder turned to face her. Her eyes were open now, and she was giving him a half-smile.

“Of course.” He said as he put the lid down on the toilet and sat.

“Thank you for the wine.

“And the bath.

“And for staying here with me.

“And honestly, for everything over the past few days,” she said.

“That’s okay. I’m just glad that you called me. Really Scully. You can always call me. Please, always call me.” He replied and smiled earnestly before taking a sip of the wine. “I’m just so sorry about it all.” He ran his finger along the rim of the glass—something on his tongue. “And I’m sorry…. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you what I knew.” He dipped his head; his voice became low. “I thought I could protect you. That I was protecting you.” He regarded Scully. She was looking at him through the moisture that was forming in her eyes.

“I realise now ... that I didn’t know how to have the conversation with you. So I guess, in a way, I was trying to make it easier on myself. And for that, I’m truly sorry. I’m so sorry, Scully.” He leaned forward, bringing himself closer to her. He mouthed the words again ‘I’m so sorry’. He continued speaking. “I am. And I know you can take care of yourself. I should have told you. Found a way.”

Scully nodded at him. An acceptance of his admission. “It’s okay now, Mulder. I know your heart was in the right place. I do.” Scully took her glass of wine and took a large sip. Mulder followed suit.

“Better?” Mulder inquired.

“Getting there.” She took a slow deep breath and another sip before returning her gaze to him. “Mulder, do you ever wish things were different?”

“What do you mean?” He responded, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t know, in your personal life, I guess.” She was speaking while the rim of her glass rested on her lip. “Maybe that you met someone, settled down … had kids?” Scully stopped herself. Realised she’d never asked him this before. “Do you want kids, Mulder?”

“Um, I’m not sure I do.” Scully couldn’t hide her surprise at his answer. He took a long drink and then responded to her expression. “You have to understand Scully, the pain of losing Samantha … when I was just a kid myself ... was almost too much to bear.” He hadn’t ever formed a coherent answer on this subject before. Nobody had ever asked him. “I couldn’t sleep. For years. She was my little sister, and I should have protected her … and I didn’t.” He sucked in a quick breath, tried to suck back the emotion that accompanied this subject for him. “I … I couldn’t stop every bad thing that could possibly be happening to her, from entering my head.” He stopped talking. Closed his eyes, this time taking in a deep breath. Nothing much had changed in over 30 years. “I don’t know. The responsibility of bringing a child into this world, only to worry about their every move, their whereabouts, who could be harming them. I’m just … I’m not sure I’m up for that…” He trailed off.

Scully studied him for a moment. Her heart breaking. How much he had endured. And yet he remained soft. Opened. She marvelled him. Fell in love just a tiny bit more.

“How do you do it? Deal with the pain of loss?” She asked, crinkling her forehead in empathy. “I mean, you’re trained in psychology. I want to know; what do you do?”

Mulder was taken aback by this question. He hadn’t really thought about it before, what, if anything, he does to deal with it. Grief, he supposed.

“I’m not sure I do deal with it very well. I mean, I based my whole life, my whole career around losing Samantha. Around finding her. My family fell apart because of it, and it was never put back together.” He was lost in thought for a moment. Took another sip of his wine. Scully’s eyes were still on him, so he continued. “You, Scully, you seem to deal with grief well. Since I’ve known you, you lost your Dad,” he dipped his chin and continued, gently, “your sister.” He hesitated before continuing, “and now, Emily... What did you do? Do you do….” He trailed off.

“Hmmm. Um. I guess… I try to honour their memory. Talk about them … pray to them. Talk to them.” She took the last sip of her wine and put the empty glass down on the stool by the bath. She leaned herself back onto the tub, slipping her body further below the water. “Um, I just know that I was lucky to have them as long as I did.” She sighed deeply. “I try to trust that God has some kind of plan…” she shook her head, looked up at him. “I’m sorry, I’m really not even sure I believe that last part. But....” she took a slow breath, “I do know that grief is the price we pay for love. And that not loving something because you fear you may lose it, well… I don’t want to do that Mulder. I’ll never regret loving Emily for those few precious days, even with this pain so raw.” Tears began to slip down her cheeks.

He instinctively reached out his hand to her, and she clasped hers, dripping, in his. They were silent for a moment. Both of them contemplating what Scully had just said, ‘not loving something because you fear you may lose it…’

_Is that what he was doing? With his love for Scully?_He had known for the longest time that he loved her. Was_ in_love with her. He feared it, though. Not the love itself, just what it meant. What it meant if she didn’t feel the same way about him. What it would mean if she did. He thought then that maybe he had made a conscious decision to keep it from her. To not let her know his heart. He already had all the angst and fragility that came with loving her, just without any of the joy. Without any of the intimacy. These thoughts washed over him, seeping in and settling at the edge of his awareness.

Had Scully just sprouted advice she couldn’t follow, when it came to Mulder? She’d convinced herself that she needed to hold this part of herself back. If she didn’t confront how she felt about him, then there would always be a possibility. The possibility of them being more than just partners, work colleagues, friends. To know, unequivocally, that he_didn’t_love her, didn’t want her, didn’t think about her the way she felt about him, would be too much to bear. So, she lived in the space between not knowing and knowing; the possibility that he might feel the same way she did. She felt safe there.

Mulder noticed the bubbles had thinned out considerably. He could just make out the outline of Scully’s small frame against the bath through the dark candlelit water. The blush of her nipples. The change in tone of her pubic hair. She looked at him, saw where his gaze was. Mulder noticed her noticing him. They locked eyes for a moment. A long moment.

“Would you please pass me a towel?” She said as she pushed herself up to her previous position. Her nipples at the waterline. Mulder breathed heavier, as his eyes swept along her body once more. He wasn’t being asked to leave the bathroom. He stood up and found the towel he had retrieved from the cupboard earlier. He stood right at the edge of the bath, and held it, stretched it out between his hands. He turned his head to the side as Scully stood up in the tub. She took the towel from his hands and wrapped it around herself.

“Thank you,” she said when he turned back to face her.

Mulder nodded and gave a small smile before collecting the wine glasses and backing out the door, as Scully stepped out of the bath.


	5. I believe you.

While Scully dressed in her bedroom after her bath, she thought about how much she wished Missy was still alive. How much the whole emotional mess with Emily would have been different with her sister there. Missy would have known what to do, what to say. Scully found it hard to let people in. To make that choice. She used to marvel at her big sister’s ability to do that. To open up. Sometimes people wouldn’t be careful with Missy’s heart. It never stopped her, though, she always managed to stay open. She realised that Missy and Mulder were alike in that way. Scully used to trust her sister, above anybody else. It wasn’t a choice to let her in, just a default of being born her little sister. It used to annoy her, but now she lamented how Missy could read her every expression, how she knew her better than she knew herself. That Missy was the only one on the inside; with her. She missed having that, just as much as she longed her big sister. There was another thought there too, at the fringe of her consciousness; Mulder. She trusted him. He knew her. Maybe, like Missy, better than she knew herself. _Was it time to let him in?_

Mulder was hanging up the phone when Scully entered the lounge room in long satin pyjamas and a warm robe up over the top. Bed socks on her feet.

“I just ordered some food. It’s paid for,” he told her, and she gave him a smile. “Might grab a shower while it comes. You be okay?”

“Yeah, thank you.” She answered as he grabbed his bag and walked past her into the bathroom, running a hand down her arm as he went by.

Scully collected plates and cutlery from the kitchen, set them up on the coffee table. And then she took her time lighting the fire. Drew some comfort in the ritual.

There was a knock at the door with the arrival of dinner, just as Mulder walked back in dressed in pyjama bottoms and a grey T-shirt. Scully answered the door and tipped the delivery woman. Mulder went over to her and took the food out of her hand, guided her over to the sofa.

“Sit. I’ll serve.” She did as she was told.

Mulder served their dinner. It was practised enough that he knew all her favourite dishes and how much to dish up. They ate. Shared looks but not words. They were closer to one another on the lounge than they needed to be. When Scully turned her body to his, and he mirrored her, their knees touched.

“Melissa called me,” she said, apropos of nothing. There was a hesitation to her voice.

A look of confused began at his brow. He opened his mouth, searched her face, closed it and didn’t speak.

“I got a call from a woman, at Bill’s house,” she said as if he’d asked her to clarify. “… saying ‘_she needs your help_’, or something like that.” Scully paused. Took a breath. “When I traced the call … it led me to Emily. To her adoptive parents’ house.” She turned to look at him. “Mulder,” she continued, “it was Melissa’s voice. On the phone. It … it sounds so ridiculous, but I swear it was her.”

A single tear broke over her bottom lashes, ran a lonely trail down her cheek. Mulder took their plates off their laps and grabbed her hands in his.

“I believe you.”

She laughed through her tears. “Of course you do.” She gave him a grateful smile and gripped his hands back.

“What do you think it means?” He pressed gently.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m telling you.” She shook her head, took a hand back to wipe at her cheeks. “I can’t begin to unravel any science behind it.” He moved a hand up to her face too, helped her swipe at the moisture on her cheeks. “I can’t stop going over it. My head hurts thinking about it.”

“You said back there in the bath, that the way you deal with grief is to talk to your lost family members. Maybe don’t think beyond that, Scully.” There was no moisture left, but his hand was still there, circling his thumb over her cheek, cupping her jaw. “It’s okay to believe, to have faith, that it was Melissa … answering you.”

“Do you believe that?”

“You know me, Scully,” he said with a wry smile, “I’ll believe almost anything, that is until my brilliant partner disproves it.” He gave her shoulder a playful nudge with his own, elicited another smile. It fell from her face as she lost herself in thought. The room was quiet, but for the crackling of the fire. The warmth engulfing her. The silence, comfortable. Though she felt surrounded by grief, she had the unmistakable awareness that the care and support radiating off Mulder was beginning to overwhelm it; blanketing her instead in a secure embrace.

“You tired?” She nodded in reply. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” She nodded again.

He didn’t say another word. Just got up and offered his hand. Scully took it and let him draw her to her feet. He walked ahead into her bedroom with her in tow.


	6. Can you hold me?

They had walked this closely together before—many times. Even when the location allowed, Scully never sought more distance from him. She assumed he must have felt the same way. Their personal space somehow included the other. They had held hands before now too, to help each other up, or out of a scrape. For comfort when one of them was in a hospital bed. Perhaps in consolation, as happened earlier today on the plane and in the car. Practical hand-holding too; Mulder helping her to her feet to take her to her bath. Here, Mulder was leading her to her bed.

They made it closer to the room, and he turned back to her, her hand still in his, the dim light of the hallway illuminating his gentle smile. His smile was soft, yes, but there was something new. An intimacy she hadn’t detected before. Something amorous about the way he looked at her, how his eyes searched her whole face and then swept down and up her body. A feeling of desire flushed her skin, washed over her where his eyes had trailed. A realisation washed over her too. She wanted Mulder to stay with her tonight. Not just here in her apartment, she wanted him in her bed. Maybe she wanted more...

Once in her room, she peeled off into the bathroom to brush her teeth and get ready for bed. Mulder let her go and then moved over to her bed and switched on the lamps on her bedside tables. He pulled the covers back on her side as she entered the room. Instinct, not a conscious thought as to how he knew that she had a particular side, and which one it was.

She made her way around the bed and climbed in. Sat back against the headboard, giving him a smile and a “thank you”. He pulled the covers over her lap, sat on the edge of her bed. Brushed his hand across her forehead, back behind her ear. A phantom tendril. That act sometimes routine rather than necessary.

“Scully,” he began, “I know I’m not your family. And I don’t know if it even means anything to you, but I’m here.” He lowered his voice. Took her hand. “I’ll always be here. You’re not alone. And you can confide in me, okay?” His focus became acute. His grip on her hand a little tighter. “I _want _you to confide in me.”

Her face dropped at his words. She sighed. She had wanted to hear those words from him. To _know_ he really cared. Now, confusion flooded her; was her want for him, her need for him, motivated by grief or desire? She honestly didn’t know. Maybe it was both.

He carefully lifted her chin, and her eyes met his.

“Can you hold me? Sleep in here tonight?” She didn’t think about what she was saying or really asking. She just knew she had to have him close.

He nodded. “Of course. Just give me a minute.”

He left her in the bed and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. His toiletries in there from his shower before. He looked at himself in the mirror. Guilt and sorrow for his partner began to creep up his chest, threatening to close around his throat. He cared about her so much. Loved her - so much. It wasn’t a thing though that he could offer, he thought. Determined that his love wouldn’t be a prize anyone would seek, as he came along with it. His obsessions, his propensity for thrusting them both into the line of danger. He couldn’t help but take on the responsibility of every awful thing that had happened to Scully. Yes, she decided to be an FBI agent, and someone else assigned her to the basement with him. But it was _his _personal quest; he founded this whole dangerous business.

He was battling with himself. With his decision not to tell her what he had known. She had had so much done to her, taken from her without her knowledge. The conversation in the car before was forcing him to turn his reasoning over in his mind. That he too was a man, making decisions about her, for her. He was perpetuating possibly the biggest of all of Scully’s demons. He spat in the sink and rinsed his mouth. Took a deep breath and went back into her room to be there for her. Whatever she needed.

He saw she had moved down in the bed, was now lying on her side. She opened her eyes as he moved across to her, looked up at him as he leaned down and placed his lips to her forehead. Kissed her there. Let his lips linger. He felt her sigh beneath him. He drew back, caressed her forehead. Put that phantom hair in place again.

“Night, Scully,” he said as he switched off her lamp.

Her blinds were slanted open, angled to the winter moon, bathing the room softly in cool blues. He took a last look at her in the dim light. She was so beautiful. Breathtaking. Achingly so. He moved to the other side of the bed. His side. For tonight at least. Crawled under the covers, switched off the lamp, and settled in behind her. Crept an arm over her, draped it over, across her arms crossed at her chest. Held her as she’d asked. He felt her relax back onto him, curl her fingers around his forearm.

After a time of silence, Mulder heard her quietly sobbing. Felt her body shudder. He took his arm back, reached out and stroked her hair. Let his hand drift down onto her shoulder. “Scully? You okay?”

She turned in the bed. Twisted into his gentle pull on her shoulder. Wriggled back a little and faced him. Mulder smoothed the moisture from her cheeks with his thumb. Circled there giving her time to answer. Then took his hand back, leaving his gaze; gentle and imploring.

“You know,” Scully began, heeding his advice to confide in him. “I read in an article somewhere once, about how women who’ve had mastectomies … or hysterectomies, or ... for whatever reason can’t have children, can end up questioning, um, ... questioning what makes them a woman…” She looked away from him then. A look into thought, to what she might say next. “I do feel that.”

She was quivering; the words seemed difficult for her to form. The tears didn’t announce themselves again; just began to silently slip away.

“This is hard for me to articulate to you, um,” she found his gaze. Still there, unwavering. “… it’s kind of how I felt going through my cancer treatment.”

“Scully,” he said. His tone communicating his anguish for her. He moved his hand and found one of hers, under the covers. Held on.

“… but it feels so final now, this feeling ... I just,” she closed her eyes. Sorrow overtaking her ability to get it out. Understanding of how to express what she was feeling beginning to form. She swiped at her cheeks with her fingers, roughly flinging the tears away.

He reached out with his other hand, and helped her, brushed his fingers across her wet skin. She lifted her eyes to his again.

“What is it? Tell me?” he pleaded.

“I don’t feel like a woman Mulder, I don’t feel like a….” she bit her lip. “… like a … sexual being ... anymore. I feel empty. Unlovable. Un …” she snorted a laugh, a tragic kind of sound before she finished her thought. “…fuckable.” Tears and more ugly adjectives tumbled out of her mouth, and Mulder shifted in the bed to embrace her.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop. Please, Scully. Stop. You’re breaking my heart.” He said in a rush, hugging her into him, stroking her hair. “I’m here. Shhh, shhh.”

He held onto her as she cried, not sure what else to say. Scully’s hands wrapped around him. Tight. Her head tucked under his chin. Her hands found their way under his T-shirt. Settled on his warm skin. Mulder took this cue and lowered his hand from her hair, dipped it into the collar of her pyjama top, squeezed at her bare shoulders.

“I don’t want to diminish anything you’re feeling, Scully, but … you are so beautiful. So vibrant and, and … sexy and most definitely not un-fuckable. Okay?”

She let herself laugh.

He continued. “The things that happen to us, they don’t define us. They don’t.”

“So, you would have sex with me then, Mulder?” She didn’t know why she asked him that. Well, perhaps she did know. Maybe a warm body on top of hers was entirely what she needed. Was what would help take it all away.

“Scully … if you only knew what went on in my head,” he chuckled. “No scratch that, you most certainly do not want to know what goes on in my head.”

She untucked herself from under his chin, pulled back and found his eyes.

“Maybe I do, Mulder. Maybe what goes on in your head is exactly what I need right now.” Her look was steadfast.


	7. It always began with a kiss.

Mulder didn’t know how to respond. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Scully’s lips. Kiss her perfect berry pout.

That was how every one of his fantasies began; with a kiss.

He wanted to undress her. Touch her every place. Map her whole body with his lips, his tongue. Make love to her and discover her secrets. He wanted to_know_her. To feel her unravel. To undo her. And then put her back together.

Then, he wanted to fall asleep, naked, wrapped in each other’s arms.

They both stared. Eyes hooded. Their looks; a prelude to a kiss? Or maybe an embarrassed laugh? Which would it be? After five years of wanting, five years of yearning, five years of questioning; was it all to be answered now, with a simple kiss? Or, would one of them break the mood? Lose the moment?

Neither happened.

Instead, she placed a hand to his temple, ran her thumb across his brow, and asked a question.

“What is it exactly, Mulder, that goes on in your head?”

She was wearing a well-worn, pragmatic, Scully scientist’s expression. Her voice was different though, a low, slow, husky quality he hadn’t heard before.

He was nervous. Wanted to tell her everything, but at the same time didn’t want to sound lewd. Scare her away. So, he began how it always did… “kissing. Lots of kissing.”

“Mm-hmm,” she drawled, acknowledging what he said with a slight nod. She swallowed her bottom lip between her teeth. Holding it there and him in her gaze as she shifted the small distance across the sheet, closer. He stayed as if frozen in place, neither leaning in nor backing away. She shuffled up the bed, so her face was in line with his. He didn’t move. She caressed his cheek, and her gaze fell from his eyes to his mouth. She ran her tongue along her top lip before asking, “like this?” And then her mouth met his in demonstration. Mulder’s lips. Velvety soft and smooth. Her lips slipped across his, wet and salty; the taste of her grief. She couldn’t taste him, not yet, for he hadn’t responded.

And then he did.

Slowly, his lips grazed hers and then pressed to hers with purpose. Their mouths slid back and forth with gentle, tentative caresses. Gradually, he parted his lips, slid his tongue out and nudged it between her lips. She opened and let him in, found his tongue and circled. Tasted him. Slipping, seeking and savouring. Their lips a separate amour; tongues captured within, licking, twisting, lapping, with languid strokes. Her breathing slowed, and she sighed into his mouth. From this, their first kiss, she could feel herself coming back to life. Some sadness and grief, oozing from her pores. An empty vessel, Mulder’s attentions warm liquid dripping slowly into her, beginning to fill her from the tips of her toes.

They continued to kiss; their bodies pressed together. Lips connected, mouths locked opened, heads moving in a mirrored dance, following the lead of their lips. His hands found the sides of her face, and he gently stopped, pulled back. Their eyes connected.

He smiled. Nodded, “yeah, just like that.”

Neither of them could tear their eyes away. Blinking slowly. Panting.

“What else,” she began again, as she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, “goes on in there, Mulder?”

She left her hand there, running her fingers over his scalp.

“I um …” he licked his lips, and his eyes fell to her chest and then back, “um … I ... um,” he swallowed.

“Yes? You, ‘um’, what?” she teased.

“I um … I suck your nipples,” he told her with a sharp intake of breath, “I lick them.” His tongue swept across his bottom lip, not purposeful, but an emphasis, nonetheless. “... Bite them.” Their gaze held, neither of them blinking. His bottom lip returned to its place between his teeth.

The responding look on her face elicited a low burst of arousal within him. Hot blood gushed; his erection grew. He felt it throb and bump into her hip. She flinched, her attention flicked, drawn down for a second, and back. A smile flashed across her expression.

“Oh, you do, do you?” she said, taking her hand back and biting her bottom lip—a slight grin curling at the corners of her mouth.

“Ah-ha,” he affirmed in soft baritone.

Scully rolled away from him onto her back, his arm still under her neck. Her hands landed on the first fastened button on her pyjama top. She looked up at him through her lashes as she un-popped it from its buttonhole. Then the next one; pop. Her breasts still covered by the fabric. She was watching his face; his eyes dark with desire focused on her job at hand. Pop. Pop. Pop.

She pushed the fabric away. Exposed her chest and abdomen.

“Oh, Scully...” he breathed, “so beautiful.”

The tone in his voice stirred a yearning low in her belly. She felt a flush and the familiar drip of her desire below.

His eyes blinked from her breasts to hers, confirming her invitation, before he focused once more on his destination.

He pulled his arm from under her neck and propped himself up on his elbow, the front of his body snug against her side. With his free hand, he slowly reached out, touched her skin. Her breast. Touched Scully’s breast. Traced his fingers across her flesh, circled the shape of her. She tucked her chin and watched as he lowered his head and opened his mouth, let his tongue slide out and lick her nipple. Play with it. Flick it. Let it bounce back against his tongue. Over and again, to the delicious low moans his attentions were evoking. His hand cupped the volume of her other breast, kneading it and swiping his thumb over her blush pink nipple. He lowered his head still, wrapped his lips over the peak of her breast and sucked, circled his tongue with her captured in his mouth.

Scully’s hand rested on the back of his head, affirming him while he suckled her. Gently bit down, before licking over her again. Deep groaning at the back of his throat. A duet of arousal. He pulled away. Kissed her flushed skin. Made his way, with a trail of kisses, across the valley of breasts. He repeated his pattern, being bolder with his teeth this time; sloppier with his tongue.

“I think about what you taste like, in my head, I try and imagine it...” he said abruptly, as the apex of her breast popped from his mouth and his puffs of breath shot hot to cool air across her saliva coated skin, further gathering her tight nipple.

She looked a little taken aback. This weird, new territory; uncharted. This familiarity they were exploring—thrilling. Mulder just told her he had thought about what she might taste like. All but admitted to her that he thought about his head between her thighs. His tongue inside her… Did he wonder these things alone in his bed? On his couch? Or did he picture kissing her pussy with her in his presence? Sitting across from her in their office? She felt another gush. She suppressed a grin;_more of me to taste._

“You do?” she replied in question.

“I do. Sometimes I try and imagine … from your smell.”

He had propped himself back on his elbow, a breast cupped beneath his hand, playing. Holding her steadfast in his gaze.

“My smell?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

“You smell amazing Scully, you do…” He began to lazily roll her nipple between his thumb and a finger as he spoke. “At the start of the day, it’s your shampoo and perfume. But by the end of the day, when that’s worn off ... when_you’ve_worn through, I think I get a hint of you. Can smell_you_…”

“Okay,” was all she said. She silently slid her hand down over her stomach until it disappeared under her waistband. She parted her legs. Mulder’s hand stopped moving when he realised what she was doing. He took it back so he could see her.

She bit her lip as she curled at her wrist, reached inside with her fingers.

She retrieved her hand; the elastic of her waistband making a small sound as it flicked back onto her skin. She turned on her side, so they were facing one another once again. Wriggled closer, purposefully, until she felt his hardness press against her hip. Her naked breasts push against his firm clothed pecs.

And then she told him to “open your mouth.”

He did as he was told, and she extended her hand to his face, pushed two fingers into his mouth, rested them on his tongue. He clamped down around them and his eyes closed. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked her fingers further inside. Swirled his tongue over them and then opened his eyes. She smiled a satisfied grin at the amorous look on his face. “Oh my god. Scully … you taste … oh ... so good,” he managed to say with her fingers still in his mouth. He sucked some more and then lifted his hand and held onto hers. Her fingers now in his as he ran his tongue along them.

She was about to take his hand, push it down between her legs. Let him collect some of her slick on his own fingers. But then she had another thought...

After everything she had been through, everything that had been taken from her. After discovering all that had been done to her, she was finding respite in this feeling of dominance. Release in the submissive way Mulder was reacting to her. She had never been more aroused in her life. She felt bold.

“Mulder, are you interested to know what goes on in my head?”

“What, something more than coming up with ways to tear down my theories with your pesky science, goes on in there, Scully?” He playfully replied, grinning at her and dropping their hands from his mouth.

“Yes. It does. You might be interested.” She responded in that low husky voice from earlier, her eyebrow arching in response too.

He chuckled. Thought she was just playing along, humouring him as he’d been so exposed; his desires laid bare. His eyes widened when her expression didn’t change, didn’t fall away into a cheeky smirk. “You’re serious? You’ve thought about me, this way,” he indicated between them.

She looked at him. Eyes steady. Took a deep breath. Answered him with a statement: “I want to touch it.”

He scoffed slightly in disbelief. “You’ve thought about that before? Doing that?”

“Yeah, Mulder, I have. I’ve thought about … a lot of things. But … I really … I want to touch you.”

“Scully…” her name came out on his breath. He looked at her. She made a move with her hand. Moved it low. His eyes twinkled as his hand moved too, collecting the fabric at the front of his pyjama bottoms. He pulled the waistband away from his body, opening his pants for her. “Please, be my guest,” he smirked.


	8. Grief finds solace in unity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much @Misha_and_fam (twitter) and @purrykat (Tumblr) for the beta. 🥰

Scully was attracted to men. She didn’t feel like she had a thing for penises per se though. She had seen plenty of them in her time, albeit mostly attached to dead bodies, and flaccid. But they weren’t the most attractive of appendages, even when erect. Breasts, breasts were beautiful. Without being too morbid, even on a corpse, she could appreciate there was something sensual about them. Soft and alluring. She’d taken an art history class in her first year of college, cementing her appreciation for the inherent beauty of the female form.

Penises were functional, and she appreciated that they felt great, when wielded by the right person. The penises of her ex-boyfriends, however, while they gave her pleasure in moments of passion, were never something she gave any thought to outside of the bedroom.

Mulder’s penis, on the other hand, Mulder’s cock actually, as she regarded it, (firmly classifying it as sexual over anatomical), was something altogether different. She had thought about it a great deal. She allowed herself to reason that it wasn’t entirely her fault. Being in such close proximity to him, for a considerable percentage of her waking hours, she was bound to encounter the occasional erection. The first time was early on, during one of their first away cases together. He’d come to her room after a run in a pair of very thin, grey cotton running shorts. The outline of it easily discernible. Its state: undeniable. Since then she’d lost count of the many, many sightings, and occasional clothed contact, of Mulder’s phallus in its rigid form. It was hard not to notice because, as that part of a man’s body goes, even through fabric, she could tell he was above average, possibly well above.

Her medical training gave her a level of ease around him that way, an understanding that while most erections are a result of a state of arousal, some are caused by friction or a sign of healthy blood supply if caught first thing in the morning. At times she chanced a thought that maybe she might have had something to do with inducing the occasional one. Sometimes, after he’d touched her, her arm or back, she might notice a twitch down there. A bulge, and then Mulder trying subtly to obscure it. She was certainly pleased that there was no external signal to Mulder to reveal the level of moisture in her underwear after she had been around him all day.

After those close days with him, she would go home alone, or to her empty hotel room. Lay in bed and imagine touching it. Touching him while touching herself. Fantasise about wrapping her fingers around him, while pushing her fingers inside. Dream about pumping his cock in her hand while pulsing her fingers in and out. She wanted to touch him. God, for so long she’s ached to touch him. To feel him. Know him. And now, with her hand poised at his opened waistband, an invitation, she was about to…

Her hand dipped down, down into his pyjama bottoms and he immediately responded to her. An involuntary lurch into her hand. Smooth, soft skin over hard, the tip wet with arousal. She looked up at him. She wanted - no needed - to see his reaction as she slid the flat of her palm down his length. With featherlight caresses, she traced his slick into his hot, satin, flesh. Their eyes connected and, rather than the expected look of desire, she saw a curious mix of vulnerability and trust looking back at her. It melted something within. She felt joined to him somehow. Maybe more than she ever had. Like he was confiding something in her.

Without losing his gaze, she curled her fingers around him, her palm wet with his slip, gripped and pumped up, and then all the way down to his base, her hand tightening and rotating. He moaned. Moaned “Scully,” and his eyes grew dark with lust.

Her hand was down his pants. Scully’s beautiful, capable hand. God, how he loved her hands. Would find himself almost hypnotised by them. Electricity sparking whenever they would brush over his skin or through his hair, seeking damage. Now one was wrapped around his hard dick. The familiar sensations of arousal tenfold. Overwhelming. He needed to touch her too. To kiss her again. She must have been thinking the same thing as she was leaning her face up to his. He let go of the waistband of his pants, it snapped against her wrist without breaking her gliding pull on him. He clutched the back of her neck, and brought her in, smashing his lips on hers. She opened her mouth for him, and he thrust his tongue inside. Their lips bruised together, tongues circling and lapping.

The grip around his cock tightened, and her hips lurched forward; the bottom halves of their bodies pressed together. Her hand crushed between, still working. He pushed his top leg in between hers until the top of his thigh connected with her groin. All the while, her hand pumped. A moan. From her this time. She arched her back, releasing him from the kiss. Displayed her bare chest. His hand traced down her neck down, across her clavicles to her breasts. He cupped the volume of one in his palm. Pinching and squeezing, rolling her nipple under his thumb. Scully’s body began to writhe, her pelvis pulsing in time with her hand, seeking friction.

He could feel her, see her in the dappled blue light of the moon. Her body undulating, surging into him. She was magnificent. Stunningly so. Her breasts gently quivering as her body rolled deliciously. A seeming juxtaposition of purposeful grinds into him, and involuntary shuddering. His hand continued its journey down, down across the soft, warm skin of her abdomen. Skimming over the top of her satin pyjamas, rocking his hips back slightly to make room, feeling his way. Gently he traced over her pubic bone, nudged the tip of his fingers between her lips down there, over her pyjama bottoms. Teasing the silky material in between her folds; the clothing and his fingers getting damp. Massaging and rubbing, circling the bud of her clitoris over fabric. Caressing her in time with her writhing hips. Her movement steering where his fingers went, just as much as he was. Moving together. Pulsating and surging and bumping.

Still on their sides, facing in, their bodies twisted together. Other arms now wrapped around, pulling the other closer into a frenzied tangle. Something had taken over. Hands inside pants, seeking and grasping and pulling. Lips again pursuing lips. Messy kisses. Lips sucked and bitten. An urgent rolling of hips against hips. Hands-on lower backs and bare arses. His hardness grinding into her soft centre. Her torso crushed to his. She—intoxicated by his scent. Holding him tight. So tight. Burying her face into the pit of his arm and letting his aroma seduce her. Willing herself to continue her spiral into him. To drink him in. To get high and disappear into him…

In times of joy and times of sadness, people seek connections in one another. When the Second World War ended, there was an influx of babies born, all across the world. A boom of babies. Couples fell into bed. Fell into each other in release and joy. Nine months after Princess Diana was killed, the United Kingdom experienced an increase in births too. Grief finding solace in unity.

Scully knew these things. Knew her overwhelming heartache was the primary factor for Mulder in her bed. Maybe she was using him. Although knowing he had fantasies about her, perhaps she might find absolution in the knowledge that there was something in it for him too.

She was beginning to realise that there could be more than just the dissolution of her sorrow in this exchange. She was uncovering something else. Something deep. Watching Mulder react to her greedy dedication to his manhood provoked a sensation of dominance buried within. It was gnawing at the pitiful feelings that had settled over her. Mulder’s want of her. His desire. His arousal throbbing and twitching in her hand. She was affecting him, and it was igniting something. A modicum of control. A beginning. She wanted more. A counter to her continued sense of powerlessness. The powerlessness she felt after her abduction, during her cancer, over the last week; not being about to save Emily. Her infertility. She needed to grab some back. Take it. Release herself into the dominance of it. She wanted to feel dominant. Powerful. If even only for a little while. She wanted to uncover and star in more of those fantasies he told her she didn’t want to know about, that she most definitely did.

She wanted to let go. Needed to.

“Tell me, Mulder … what do I do,” she said, breathy, as she smoothed his temple, “in there? I really want to know.” She bit her lip.

He shifted back to take in her face, was met with a dark look in her eyes and he wanted to tell her. “Um… you… um,” he was biting and licking his lips. Hand lazily circling her nipple. Suddenly nervous.

“Tell me.” She commanded.

“Really? You sure?” he breathed.

She nodded. Stuck her fingers in his mouth and pulled down, like she was trying to extract it from him. Let them slip off his tongue.

“You um … you ... sit on my face, I want … I want you to sit on my face, Scully” he said all at once, pushing his body into hers and kissing her hard on the lips after, then ripping his mouth away. “I can’t tell how many times I’ve imagined it. You. Your … ah, fuck...” he said in response to an extra firm tug below.

“Okay, I want to, I …” a gush of arousal ran through her, settling firmly between her legs. Dripping between her folds. She wanted this. God did she want this. “I … I’ve never … um … where do you want me.”

Once, Missy discovered “The Joy of Sex” high in a cupboard in her parents’ bedroom. Ever the master snooper, and equally, the sharer of family gossip, she showed a 14-year-old Dana. They poured over the pictures, always ending in fits and giggles at the absurd things the illustrated couple were doing to each other. During the years since becoming sexually active, Dana Scully had not been anywhere near as adventurous as that couple, pencil-drawn into twisted lascivious positions. Though she couldn’t recall what the title of page 16 was, she was sure it wasn’t the “I want you to sit on my face”, position, but she was sure that that was precisely what he was asking now.

“Oh god, Scully. I’m so fucking turned on right now. God, you turn me on.” He moved himself up, knelt beside her and furiously pulled on her pyjama bottoms as she rolled onto her back and lifted her hips to aid him. “If you go on your knees, face the bed head. Kneel up.” He instructed as he wriggled the fabric over her hips, exposed her. “Hold on and um … knees apart,” he finished as she noticed his eyes land on the trimmed hair covering her pussy. She could swear she saw him salivate and it flushed hot within her.

Once ridden of the bottom half of her sleeping attire, she let her unbuttoned top fall from her shoulders as he tore his T-shirt over his head, jumped off the bed to rip his pants off. She assumed her position, as instructed, at the head of the bed, letting the fireworks in her belly take over so she could ignore a small nagging voice whispering, ‘what the fuck are you doing?’.

The bed dipped. His shoulders nudged at her calves, her knees shifting to make way. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as she felt his two hands wrap around the outside of her legs and grasp at her inner thighs. His soft hair tickled her flesh, drawing her eyes downward. He was there, head on a pillow, looking up at her, his forehead and eyes the only part of his face visible beneath her spread legs. And then she felt him. Soft and smooth, searing a slippery trail between her folds.

Scully let her head fall back, and her knees slip further apart, pressing her hot centre down. Lower, down onto his face. Mulder’s face. His grip firmed, and he groaned, followed by his lips wrapping around her clitoris. Her skin prickled like a fever. He sucked and flicked and swirled over and between. A heavenly flame tore through her as she shuddered against his mouth and chin. His 5 o’clock bristles rubbing delicious friction on her most sensitive parts. He held her determinedly as she squirmed. Darted his tongue inside, tasting, exploring.

Scully gripped the bedhead tighter. Her pelvis writhed, swung to a beat being played below by Mulder’s lips and tongue. His fingers spread her open. Arms still around her thighs, the hair on his forearms tickling her skin. She could feel his every articulation. Exactly where he traced her lips. Where his tongue and mouth were wandering, euphoria began culminating low and bursting out, tingling into the tips of her fingers, beginning to curl her toes. The coil tightening low, dragging her down toward his face, while threatening to launch her into oblivion. She tensed. Worried if she came that way, she might sink further down onto his face and suffocate him. Either that or her thighs might jerk closed and crush his skull.

She wanted to rip off the shackles. To shake off all expectation’s others had that informed the way she behaved. It began with her navy brat upbringing and continued through the discipline of med school and FBI training. Base desires, a distraction. Connections to emotions, a weakness. She had an intuition that she had untapped passions - places she had never allowed herself to go. She wanted to be free. To let go completely, to feel, to experience entirely. Maybe she could achieve that by allowing all of her desires for Mulder to play out. She knew it was going to be her moment, a window of freedom. That come tomorrow, her grief would exonerate her, would be her shovel to dig out of her out of their unbridled place of fantasy. She felt she had one chance.

So, she took it…

_Page 28._

“Mulder, can you please let go for a sec?” she asked breathlessly. He immediately stopped. Released her. A worried look overtook his expression.

She dismounted his face on slightly wobbly knees. Mulder lay there, about to speak. But his words were taken from him, as she mounted him again facing the other way, settling herself over his face once more, her feet by his head. He comprehended what was going on as she hovered above him on all fours, her torso inches from his. Took his erection in her hand, held him steady. He quivered below her. Tucked his chin enough to look down his body, careful that his head didn’t bump into her groin. He watched as she engulfed him. Saw, between her hanging breasts, as her mouth sunk down onto his cock. He couldn’t believe what was happening. His brain and dick both wholly overwhelmed. Pinned to the bed by a naked Scully. Her beautiful dripping wet pussy suspended above his face. Her lips, dragging up and down his cock in time with her breasts bouncing on his stomach. Ecstasy flooded his being.

What was happening? Actually, he was well aware of what was happening. Soixante-neuf. Simultaneous oral sex. Karma-sutra’s _The Book._ His head was swimming. His body - in complete euphoria. His fantasies: blasted out of the stratosphere. He quickly came back to Earth. Realised that to honour the position, and her, he had to do more than just lie there.


	9. Unbridled, unburdened and utterly beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much @Misha_and_fam (twitter) and @purrykat (Tumblr) for the beta. 🥰 The final edit was mine. Any mistakes belong to me.

For Fox Mulder, there was a moment when he knew it was Dana Scully. That it would only ever be, Dana Scully. And it wasn’t when he first began to fantasise about her; he had been doing that in almost forever. The first time, Bellefleur, Oregon. A blackout and bug bites. Candlelight and cotton underwear. Rain outside. Inside, a bed and a floor. Deep, private confessions to an open heart, poured from his. And he was heard. Later, alone in bed, surrounded by her scent, he closed his eyes, and she came to him.

His realisation didn’t happen back when he wore her chain while she was missing – that was when he knew that he _loved_her. Not when he noticed that she had become the _only_ one he fantasied about. It wasn’t even when she was fighting cancer – he wouldn’t allow any thoughts of a future without her in it, let alone a tomorrow where she survived, and they lived happily ever after. No, he knew it was Scully after he discovered her ova, had them tested, and the results came back inviable. His second thought, after the first - devastation for Scully, was that it meant that he too would never have children. That was when he knew.

To be truthful, he had no idea if it would ever happen because that would mean he would have to _do_ something. Confess his feelings. Ask her _hers_. And then, she would have to choose him too. But if it weren’t her, it would never be anybody.

The Scully that would come to him at night, when he was alone with his eyes closed and his hand down his pants, was coquettish and shy, dominating and aggressive. She would gently caress and kiss him all over or drag his hands above his head and cuff him to the bed. And everything in-between. In his current supine position, restrained beneath her, he realised that he had never seriously pondered what Scully might _actually_ be like in bed. Only ever a quick wonder as to whether she would be submissive or adventurous. Coy or unbridled. He was now chiding himself for ever thinking that she might be the type to lie back and think of England.

Right now, he doubted that she was thinking of anything other than what she was doing to his cock. Her warm, soft lips and tongue, grazing and teasing him were in contrast to her hard palate bruising along his shaft as she swallowed him deep. Low sensual moans accompanied her efforts. She had pushed his legs apart a little too, propped up now on only one hand, the other busy tugging and caressing his balls. His head fell back onto the pillow, directly under her crotch, and he wrapped his arms around her thighs. He looked up and nearly wept at the sight of her.

Licking pussy from the particular position he found himself in, wasn’t something he remembered doing to anybody else. He studied this fresh new angle and could see the path his tongue might follow. He would spread her open with his fingers, taking care to rub and stroke her lips. With the point of his tongue, he would start at the hood of her clitoris, perform the same pattern that evoked a delicious moan from her only minutes before. Then desirously lick down (or was it back, or up?) — and slip and thrust inside of her and out. Continue over her perineum, and then, _then_, if he kept going, he would find himself between her cheeks. His dick swelled and throbbed below. He held onto that thought, as he gently began. With the firm tip of his tongue, he lightly probed her clit, the flat of his tongue against her slit, spreading her opened as he worked to undo her. He gently teased and swirled and flicked.

She wrapped her fist around him, held him steady, and dragged her tongue up his satiny skin, popping him from her lips. Took a breath and studied him. He was big, as she had known he would be. From her current vantage point though, not too difficult to swallow, as he curved up at the same angle as her throat. And he was hard. So hard. Except that she was aware of how bodies functioned, she might have said _unbelievably_ so. She knew how it all worked, how soft became firm - arousal and blood. Right now, it seemed almost impossible that this appendage could be in any other state. She was in awe and thought he was perfect.

Scully was no one if not a person who strived to excel. Every one of her ex-boyfriends had told her that she had been fantastic at giving head. Her previous motivations for performing a top-notch blow job, though, were in large part for the accolades. Praise for her skill and dedication added to her thrill, to her enjoyment. Going down on Mulder, for all she was worth, him caught beneath her naked body, wasn’t to impress him_._ She wasn’t searching for a compliment. She was seeking his pleasure, giving it to him. She wanted him to feel good. Better than he ever had in his life. Daresay, she wished for him to feel _loved._ Because she did love him. So much. Maybe she could tell him with her body what she had never said with words.

Being the keeper of his gratification was impossibly arousing. The operation of dragging him to the edge and back evoked an unusual mix of lust, coupled with overwhelming affection. He trusted her. He had given himself over to her. Naked and erect and completely exposed. She sensed his submission as much as she felt her command over him. It was becoming apparent, and should not have come as a shock to her that they were extremely compatible lovers. For the two of them, as with all things, they always operated best in collaboration.

She relaxed her jaw, took him into her mouth once again and breathed through her nose.

As he was kissing and lapping at her, he dragged his index and middle fingers along her wet seam. Splayed her opened with his other hand to make way as he pushed those fingers in, into her soft, warm, slippery, centre. Pumped them in and out. Lips still sucking, tongue still swirling. Mulder felt like his brain was being split in two. Synapses stuck between action and reaction — an overload of what he was doing and what was being done. The lines between those two things began to blur as he felt the pressure and pace of her activities below start to mimic how he was consuming her. Reaction feeding action, melding as one. A flick of his tongue and she swiped hers across the seam of his head in the same manner. When she hollowed her cheeks and swallowed him into her throat, he sucked harder on her clit. He pulsed the tips of his fingers onto her pubic wall, she, in time, fondled and tugged at him, imitating the same speed and pressure. They were creating a language, their own erotic communication. Like the Ouroboros, glistening under a film of sweat on her lower back, they were devouring one another in an endless circle.

Ripples of arousal coursed through him, radiating from deep and low as she licked and sucked and teased. She was lifting up and down, taking all of him into her hot mouth. Her breasts bounced against his taut stomach with every swallow. She was moaning. A hum a pleasure. Her pleasure at pleasing him. Scully’s current dedication to him was physical, but it felt like so much more than that. Like more than any previous sexual activity. He vibrated under her intensions. The fact that it was Scully who was doing these things to him tuned everything in more acutely. The sensations felt more intense — his senses and perception, keener and more vivid. From his counter position, everything he was doing to her felt more intense too. He was worshipping her, a slave at the altar of her desire. He felt a frighteningly insatiable need to ravage every piece of her.

The culmination of their mutual adoration of one another was making her want to scream. To let go and fly. To finish him off too. Suck him senseless until he came in her mouth. She had done that on occasion, as a rare gift for a boyfriend, rather than for her enjoyment. Now though, she wanted his hot cum on her tongue. Wanted him to empty into her completely. To feel his orgasm acutely. But, she also wanted him to fuck her. Fuck her until she had no thoughts left in her head. No feelings left in her bones. She suspected Mulder’s refractory period would be faster than the average 36-year-old fit male’s but didn’t want to take his cock out of her mouth to ask him and she didn’t want to risk missing out on completely consummating their union.

So, she dragged her lips up his shaft, circled her tongue around his head. Wavering above his slick cock, she gathered saliva behind her teeth before letting it drip from her mouth, coating him like caramel over ice-cream. Aided by the new lubrication, she slipped and slid her hand loosely up and down. Kept him in a holding pattern as the sensations he was playing into her threatened to peak and spill. She gasped a breath, spreading the waves of arousal, coiled low in her belly, through her whole being. Curling her toes. She moaned and surged her body against his face and fingers, arched her head back. His fingers were inside, tugging down. Rubbing the ridge of her G spot. Pulsing the code to unlock her euphoria from deep inside. He let go of her thigh. She felt the hand return to her body. Push between their torso’s and cup first one breast then the other. Then greedily grabbed at them both. Blindly rubbing and squeezing and pinching her nipples. Again, brushing over one and then the other. Twisting and tweaking. Messy and frantic and passionate and rough. And she loved it. Her mind was empty. No grief, not sorrow, no yesterday. No tomorrow. Mulder was her tonic, and she was gulping him down.

Then ... he withdrew his fingers and licked her completely. Wet and slippery, and with absolute purpose. First, her clit, taking time to swirl and probe until she squirmed. Then he dipped in and thrust between her folds. And continued. Kept going, over her arsehole, firmly swiping up between her cheeks. Deliberate. He groaned and breathed her name and did it again. Before she could register any protests, her body answered for her, and she spread herself more, pushed back onto him and joined her sound of pleasure to his. Whispered his name back to him. He thrust his fingers back inside and began to pull again, down against her pubic wall. She dove her mouth back over his cock. Sucked in her cheeks and took him farther in. She was so close to the edge already when his thumb began swirling over her clit. His fingers still thrusting inside and out. Tongue still lapping between her cheeks. Ecstasy was winning, taking over. She quickly withdrew him from her mouth. Held herself up on all fours, arms shaky. And then she erupted. Her spine arched, and she threw her head back.

“Oh my god, Mulder,” and a song of pleasure escaped as she trembled and shuddered above him. He held her steady. Held her up with arms now firmly around her legs, his fingers still inside her, lips at her inner thigh. He watched with awe and devotion as she came apart above him — unbridled, unburdened and utterly beautiful.

It could have been seconds or minutes, but Scully had never come harder in her life. Every part of her body was alive. Electric. She imagined herself glowing, emitting light, bursting it into the room in waves of ecstasy. She might have floated away with her thoughts if Mulder hadn’t been holding her down. As the light faded, she fell forward onto his legs, his fingers slipping from inside of her. She drew breath and rolled her body to the side, gasping. Breathless and shuddering. Beads of hot sweat turned cold and raised goosebumps across her skin. Slowly her euphoric and physical parts began to merge, rousing her from her rapture. Consciousness of reality began to fill the places emptied by her fever. She dragged herself up onto her knees, gripping onto the foot of the bed, turned back to chance a glance at him. He looked ravenous, unsated. Something in his eyes told her he wasn’t done with her yet, and she gushed. Swelled below at his expression. He wanted another piece of her, she thought, and she wanted him to take it.

The powerlessness that had possessed her, over the pieces of her life accessed without knowledge or permission, was suffocating. But so too was the vice grip with which she clung so tightly onto any vestige of control. She was so sick of it. It had begun to slip, though. Tonight. Plucked and pulled away by the things they had been doing. It was intoxicating, and she wanted more. Needed more. More Mulder.

She looked at him again. Held him in her sight until the air between them was almost uncomfortable. Almost.

“Mulder?” She said as a question.

“Ah-huh.” He replied panting. Still laying back in the position he had been in when she tore open above him and writhed her way through the ecstasy he had extracted from her. His fingers and palm around his cock. Glistening. Wet with her.

She swallowed, biting her lip and then letting it pop. With an expression she knew Mulder had never seen before, she stared. Their breath hung across their tangled legs, filling the quiet before she spoke again.

Slowly and resolutely, she simply said, “I’m ready for you to fuck me now,” and then faced away.

She didn’t see his reaction, but she heard it. An involuntary guttural grunt that told her that he would fuck her exactly how she needed to be fucked. She settled on all fours, spread her knees a little further, curving her spine, tilting her arse higher; showing herself to him.

And waited.


	10. His embrace transcended the physical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience if you have been waiting for this.
> 
> A huge thank you to @alienqueequeg @PurryKat @absolutetosh and @Mich_and_fam. The best beta's a girl could hope for.

No amount of fantasising had prepared Mulder for the reality of Scully in bed. If he had just translated her way in all things, though; her skill and dedication, her determination and care, he would have come pretty close. He had a strange alternative reality feeling; thought somehow his brain may have misfired. Scully, his neat, ordered, compliant partner, had just told him she was ready for him to fuck her, after sitting on his face while sucking him off. 

A twang of guilt swirled within; a strange concoction mixed with his overwhelming arousal. He had wanted to fuck Scully from almost the day he met her. Then, it wasn’t long before his feelings for her took over, and fucking fantasies evolved into dreams of lovemaking. 

Contrition at his enjoyment of Scully _that_ way continued to stir, combining confusedly inside with a yearning more potent than he had ever known. He told himself; she had wanted this, asked him for it. She was grief-stricken, yes. That didn’t mean she wasn’t in her right mind, did it? Finding intimacy and comfort in a partner was not a damaging antidote to grief, his psychological mind knew. But, seeking solace in the depths of unattached sexual encounters with strangers, could be. 

_Which was this? _

He wasn’t her lover, wasn’t a stranger. 

_Fuck!_

He did want her_that_way. Profiled more than once that she had wanted him too. The strange worlds they straddled pushed and pulled at them like an accordion. Intimate, distant. Buying grocery items with the rest of the world one day, running from liver eating mutants the next. 

Together, apart. 

Bearing witness to the hidden horrors and absurdities within the X-Files bound them. Inextricably. So overwhelmingly sometimes, they would actively create space between themselves, to prove they could function autonomously. 

Together, apart. 

For Mulder, at times it felt manufactured. The distance. Something Scully could check off her ‘to-do’ list. _Got too close to Mulder - pick a fight and ignore his calls for the weekend._Tick.

So…

This was the only way it was ever going to happen (if it were going to happen). Together in the aftermath. In the space just beyond a disaster or an illness or a heinous case. When one of them came back; was safe from being abducted or lost, kidnapped or marked for murder, returned from the brink of death. Amid anguish or devastation. They were the only times he’d witness her veneer slip. That she would let him behind the curtain. Close. 

The only way to Scully’s heart was through tragedy. It usually locked tight behind swallowed feelings, and a chorus of, ‘_I’m fine’s’._Disaster the key that would crack her chest. Leave her heart exposed. A window of intimacy and affection until her sternum was wrenched closed, bound once again with wire until the next torment or potential mortality. 

He knew they would never find themselves on a date where he’d rest his shoulder on her door frame after dropping her home, lean in for a kiss and they’d end up here in her bed. Never one evening after working late, take a moonlit stroll around the Washington monument, their hand’s grazing, before one of them held on. Continuing to walk in silence, hand in hand, the fever between them too much to bear and they’d kiss and declare their feelings beneath a midnight sky. 

No.

They didn’t work that way. 

They didn’t work any way he could have predicted when she walked into his basement office five years ago. But they did work. They always had. There was just something for him about Scully that said _yes_. Yes, trust her. Tell her. Lean on her. Care for her … _love_her. Now she was asking him for a ‘yes’. Yes, cross her bed to her. Yes, kneel up behind her and grasp her arse in each hand. And yes, fuck the grief out of her. Mulder, yes. 

So, he did.

...

Scully had barely slept. Crying one’s self to sleep is only a remedy for insomnia if there is actual sleep when the tears run out. 

She hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep since before first staying at Bill’s going on two weeks ago. Pregnant Tara having had a lot to do with the first interruption; phone calls from a dead sibling and mysteriously appearing offspring, responsible for the rest. 

She woke alone. Naked and tangled in her sheets. Images and sensations from the previous night recalled in her mind and across her skin. Pulsed with each waking breath. She lay there, still and silent until she was sure no memory went unrecognised. Scully had to be across of all of the previous night’s evidence to form a plan of how she would walk into her lounge room. Face Mulder. Know what was to be said to find a way to move forward by leaving last night behind. 

She didn’t regret it. Just the way it ended. She was grateful to Mulder. It had indeed been her salvation—a perfect way to feel, not think her way out of a pit of grief and despair. And for Mulder, enjoyable? Certainly recreational. A decrease in his 1-900 call bill for the weekend maybe. 

She found her robe twisted in the sheets. Dragged it on as she made her way to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror, held onto the sink and leaned in. Typically, she liked her appearance well enough; it was familiar. She didn’t think of herself as pretty, though knew she wasn’t unattractive. This morning, with her hair mussed and her lips swollen and grazed crimson pink, a rose to her complexion, she saw something she hadn’t seen before. Some kind of satisfaction, or confidence ... the previous night’s lovemaking evident in her expression. What she saw was raw. Beautiful.

She wrapped her robe more tightly around her naked body, still thick with his smell. Part of her hoped Mulder was gone. Another part of her knew the sooner she saw him, the better. Rip the awkwardness Band-Aid clean off. She rounded the hall corner and saw his bag opened by the lounge.

He was still here.

It was early. The light from the unrisen sun peeked through the curtains telling of morning. The colours though, still speaking of the night, cold and blue. Embers lingered in the fireplace, and she silently walked past the sofa to attend to them, chancing a glance at him. His lanky frame wrapped in a blanket. Breath, sleepy and slow. The exposed parts naked. 

As quietly as she could, she began to bring the fire back to life. Marvelled at how a little attention could resurrect something nearly extinguished. The morsels of herself lost within her sorrow, found last night in her bed. Ignited by the regard and care from the man she loved slumbering away on her sofa. 

She crumpled up a newspaper from weeks ago, of which she had probably read the news story with interest. Right now, nothing outside of her lounge room held any interest. She was very good at ploughing ahead, but if she allowed herself to give in to her needs when she wasn’t feeling her best, she would cocoon herself in the comfort of her soft surroundings. Her sofa and bookshelf, bath and bubbles, old films and raging fires, hot chocolate and _Mulder_… Yes, she realised, Mulder was welcome into her world of solitude and resurrection. 

Mulder. 

The man she had shared the most unbridled, lust-filled, carnal night of her life with. Who, when she asked him to fuck her sorrows away, did. Oh God, he did…

...

Mulder may have cried a little, or died, had he the time or privacy. His dream laid before him. Scully. On all fours, naked at the end of her bed. Bared to him. Her body. Her _self_. Her seam, wet and pink and welcoming. It was nothing short of the most erotic thing he had ever witnessed. Though, it was her expression that caught most of his attention. He had seen it before, but only in pieces, never in this combination, with this intensity. Her self-assuredness when she knew what was to come. Her vulnerability, when she let him in. He saw playful Scully and serious and determined in the mixture too. And desirous. 

He’d noted that glint in her eye from time to time. It would creep out, he thought, perhaps a small part of her beckoning him. Her want of him hiding between them, in plain sight. He could feel it. Knew it. He was a profiler after all, which allowed him to understand that there was often a difference, a line between feeling a certain way about a person and wanting the reality of it. That line could be significant, thick and indelible. So, he always knew he would wait for her to be ready, if ever.

Even though he was fighting guilt, he couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t. He knew her. If he didn’t follow through because of his crisis of conscience, she would misconstrue it as rejection, and it would further break her already broken psyche. Kill something within her. She was vulnerable and open. Literally open, like a flower, waiting for him. Come tomorrow; they could talk about it. Or not. They could _not talk_their way out of anything. At that, they were experts.

Fragments of snowy moonlight snuck into the room, illuminating Scully’s usual alabaster skin pale blue. It glistened with a veil of moisture from her exertions and the exaltations of her undoing. He took a breath. Held the sight on her in his mind for keeps. And then… 

Crawled over to her, his cock aching as it bounced. Right up, nose to arse, hands to her hips, and resolutely licked between her cheeks on his journey to kneel behind her. She shuddered onto his mouth and opened wider. In the same fluid movement that brought him to his knees, he held himself and nudged the head of his cock into her dripping pussy. He was preparing to ease in, as historically, that was what past lovers required of him. But Scully bumped back into him. Setting a steady pace until her arse cheeks hit his hips. 

“Holy shit,” passed his lips, with a sharp breath.

His concern was not to hurt her, and now, hilt deep, she was so tight he felt himself ache and tremble in stunning pain. Stayed there, buried. Joined. Closed his eyes and breathed in. Her scent in the air, thick with heady notes, lingering from their earlier merging; their mouths to each other’s sex. He swelled inside her, couldn’t tell if the throbbing was originating in his cock, or she was pulsing him within her lithe body. 

He felt her pull away, slide off him, her cunt tight, clinging like it didn’t want to let go. Extended her hip flexors until just his head remained. Moaned there and then flexed the same muscles, backed onto him, drew him back inside. And then, out. 

She’d asked him to fuck her, but the object and the subject of that request were currently flipped. _She_fucking _him_. And so, he moved. Small motions at first, going slow, building up. He sunk his fingers a little deeper into the flesh at the top of her arse, so as to not buck her off the bed.

“Oh my god Mulder, you feel ... oh god...” She left her breathy fragmented sentence in the air. 

He filled in the blanks, replying, “...so do you, Scully. Unbelievable.” 

The mental image of Mulder behind her, clasping her hips, his whole dick lost within her elicited a hidden pang. Something that felt forbidden. Mulder, who in her presence wore suits and bad ties, was naked and fucking her. Holding her down and shoving himself into her body. As close as two beings could physically be. His view, her nude body; arse and back. He was mesmerised by his phallus dipping in and out of her, as she stretched around him. 

She felt her lips swell and encase him. The sensation midway between pleasure and pain. That it was Mulder inside of her, filling her, tipped the scales well and truly in favour of pleasure. And they kept tipping, incrementally, with his thrusts. Sliding into her slippery pussy, lips swollen with lust. Pushing the whole way in until his hips met her body, then pulling almost all the way out. Over and over, his hips smacking her arse. Again and again and again. Grunting and pulsing. 

“Mulder, can you, um,” she looked over her shoulder at him. “....harder. _Please_...” He stopped his motions, buried within. Took the opportunity to step back from the edge of ecstasy, to calm the churning arousal low in his groin. “Please... take me away,” she pled quietly through her pleasure.

He blinked slowly at her. His expression narrowed, sharped with determined focus. 

“Okay, Scully,” he oozed, gravel-voiced.

Without giving her time to turn her head back, he bent over her, wrapped one arm around her waist, the other her torso and lifted her arms off the bed. Pulled her with him as he sat back on his heels, her arse cradled in his lap, cock still deep inside. He clung to her and began to buck, hard thrusts up into her body, her breasts bouncing in time. In and out. Her legs slipped apart, straddling his thighs, the lumbar region of her spine curved way back as she opened for him. He grabbed at the soft flesh of her breast with one hand. Located her nipple and pinched. Roughly pulling at her. His other hand slipped down between her legs, brushed against his rigid cock, pumping in and out of her, as he located her clitoris. In contradiction to his powerful hold on her and his now furious penetrations, he touched her. Featherlight circles, swirling then flicking. Her small body engulfed by his. He wanted to hold her, have her forever. Keep her emotions in his hands and heart.

The grasp he had on her was perfection. She couldn’t have wiggled away if she’d tried. Or wanted to. Every point of contact firing neurons at the sensations of his touch, taking up residency in her brain. Evicting the sadness and grief and loss. His embrace transcended the physical. Only the slightest thought slipped through; _Fox Mulder is fucking me. He’s fucking me, and I feel so fucking sexy. More desired than I ever have. _

Her back slid up and down his chest and stomach, slippery with their sweet sweat. She lifted her arms over her head, draped them behind and clung on around the back of his neck. She turned her face up to his, he down to hers, and they kissed. Tongues exposed, licking and dragging over lips and pushing into one another’s mouths. Messy and fevered and imprecise. An effort to stay connected as he banged up into her.

Her jaw slackened, and his tongue delved deeper inside. He filled her up. Everywhere. Consumed her. And they danced. Joined in a passionate entanglement. Seamlessly one. Pulsing and thrusting and grasping in desperation and love. Love, pouring from him into the places her sorrow once filled. Melted off her skin, leaving traces of hope in her wake. Love. Melding them together. Pounding through their veins, their hearts beating out a symphony of raw devotion. Time stretched and snapped back. Held them. Suspending them in perfect unity. 

In a fever, he broke from their kiss and pushed her back down onto all fours. Didn’t miss a beat as he continued to piston in and out. One hand grabbing her arse, the other still coupled in a wild tryst with her clitoris. He felt her abandon. Her trust and submission. And he allowed himself to unleash completely. Was unrelenting in his ferocity. Huffed her name, and she, his, in reply. The seemingly formal, yet intimate way they had addressed one another from the start, two words said a thousand times. Their surnames the only words panted into the room, the meaning seeping out, pushed from the jumble of letters; a _‘Y’_, an _‘E’_, an ‘S_’_. _Yes, yes, yes. _

His hips slapped a tempo onto her smooth, taut arse. Giving further permission for their vocal sounds of ecstasy to join the rhythm. He was grunting; she was biting her lip. Trying to swallow her noises for fear the sound might drag her through orgasm before she was ready. Her elbows gave way, and her chest hit the mattress—his grip still firm. A combination of him pushing into her and pulling her back kept her knees steadily underneath her. Her walls involuntarily clamped around him as she grabbed fist fulls of the bedspread in her hands. Only a few more pumps of his hard cock within her, pressing and dragging deliberately over her G-spot, his deft fingers rubbing and swirling - and she let go. Came undone. Had no choice; her euphoria thrust from her. Pounded out of her. More intense this time, than earlier in the evening. Stars filled her vision, her body, her soul and she soared. Her voice sounded outside of herself, and she was incapable and unwilling to control it. 

She was free.

He continued to ride her through her rhapsody until he felt it too. His balls tightened, and he knew he was about to come, to follow her over the edge. But … he so desperately wanted to look at her and kiss her while he was inside of her. Desired to hold her and tell her how he felt before brick by metaphorical brick, her walls would build to separate them again. He had a sinking feeling that what was happening was an anomaly. A gift to pull her momentarily from grief. A beautiful, one-time thing. He knew he would come, experience that well known physical euphoria, but that the melancholy of having Scully close, yet worlds away, would soon replace it. 

He was beginning to uncoil, deep and low, when a feeling of panic cloaked him.

“Scully, I’m about to …”

She heard an edge to his voice, not amorous, as had laced it before. _Apprehension?_She felt him withdraw. Confusion, followed by hot cum, spread across her, over her back. 

“Oh, god,” was forced from his lips. Both a sentiment of his undoing and his mortification at the smear of his release defiled across her skin—the colour, indiscernible from her flesh.

They hadn’t discussed if he would cum inside of her. Nor had they agreed on where his ejaculate would end up if he didn’t.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry …,” he breathed as aftershocks shuddered through him, giving a staccato to his apologies. 

Her heart broke a little for him. For herself. She realised the subject of ‘protection’ would have rubbed salt into a wound that had had no time to heal; still gaping and raw and inflamed. _Protection from what?_No unplanned pregnancies were lurking in Scully’s womb. Nowhere for Mulder’s seed to germinate. 

They hadn’t discussed previous sexual history, but she knew. An immaculate conception was about as far from possible as an immaculate infection from a man who hadn’t had sex in years. 

She should have let him know beforehand, though. Should have told him that she was entirely okay with him coming in her. She wanted him to. A ‘fuck you’ that she could have his hot cum, ejected up into her with no consequence. To have him sticky on her thighs. Warm and dripping. A mix of their combination evidenced below. More so, she wanted his semi-hard dick inside of her after, still connecting them as they breathed their way back into the room. Together. To stay as one as they left that place of unbridled passion, held on to one another as reality came into focus around them. As they stepped back from behind the looking glass in unison, joined as he softened, and she caught her breath. As he littered her with kisses and slowly slipped from inside of her while she stared into his eyes and tickled his sticky skin with her fingertips, still electric from her fervour. She wanted to stand a chance to retain their new connection … as lovers. As ... _something more._

But now he was apologising. Hopping off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

She had landed on her belly, limbs still where they fell. She had just begun to peel herself off the bedspread when she felt a warm washcloth brush over her skin. Clean the smear of their lovemaking from her back. _Warm. _He had used warm water, and it warmed her heart. How could one man be so thoughtful, be all that she needed to be pulled from the wrenched pits of her despair? 

She turned over her shoulder, looked at his expression as she sat herself up.

“Sorry,” he said again, mortification taking over. 

She smiled gently at him as she sat, knees to chest, instinctively pulling the sheet to cover her naked body. “It’s okay, Mulder. We never … we didn’t decide...” 

She felt the air begin to sink uncomfortably around them. _Shit_. She excused herself, kissed him chastely on the cheek, dropped the sheet and disappeared into the bathroom, gathering her robe on the way.

When she came back into her room, he was in his boxers, sitting on the bed—looking at his feet. Sheepish.

“You okay?” he asked, raising his gaze to meet hers as he ran a palm down his face.

Scully nodded, drawing her robe tighter around her body.

“Do you still want me to, um … stay in here?”

She did.

“Um…,” she hesitated. He stood up, looked like he was making for the door. “It’s okay, you don’t ... have to,” she stammered. 

“Okay, um …” he gave her a look she couldn’t read. Wavered, before continuing. “Night, Scully …” he said, walking backwards to the door.

_‘Please, Mulder, stay’_, was caught in her throat, but never made it past her lips. 

“I’ll be just out here if you need me … I mean, need anything.”

He disappeared out her door. She felt the loss of him acutely. 

She looked at the back of her door for a long while. Like she could will him back in. Rewind the moment and ask him to stay.

She undid her robe and dropped it on the bed. Crawled under her covers, naked, engulfed in their combined scent. She buried her head in the pillow he had used before. And cried.


	11. Tell me a secret.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much @alienqueequeg @absolutetosh @purrykat and @Misha_and_fam for the beta. 🥰 I couldn’t have done it without you. The final edit was mine, so any mistake are on me.

Mulder heard the door to her room click, and then the twang of the spring unwind within the mechanism, as the handle shot back to its usual position. Then his own feet, padding their way quietly over her wooden floor as he walked away from her. Listened to the air escape his lungs as he dropped to sit on her sofa. Heard the couch groan as he swivelled and stretched himself out across its length, shoving a cushion under his head. Huffed as he reached for a throw rug to cover his still tingling skin. The slow cracking of the dying embers in his ears as he rolled onto his back, looked up at the ornate plaster of her ceiling.

He didn’t hear the sobs coming from her room. Instead, he was being deafened by two sides of an argument he had unknowingly been having within, for years. _Should he reveal to Scully how he really felt?_ The case for the affirmative having just procured some more evidence.

Even though he had felt a sexual pull from her before, he hadn’t taken it to mean she was in love with him. Or even that she ever truly wanted him that way. To him, trained in psychology as he was, he understood it. Theirs was an intense relationship; work demanded it. Their lives literally depended on unwavering trust. A forced intimacy to their partnership, sometimes misconstrued as need. As want. All it was, was that intensity spilling over. Or so he’d thought.

During foreplay earlier, Scully had admitted that she had thought about touching him. About wanting to put her hand down his pants. _About a lot of things._ Mulder mulled this over. Deducing that Scully had more than likely had sexual fantasies about him. Thought about him outside of a moment of lust, he had assumed was only ever fleeting, and quickly extinguished by sense and reason.

Yes, a point to the affirmative.

Though, once she’d had her way with him, _(that thought was unfair, he knew)_, he was out the door quicker than he’d come, unceremoniously, across her back. They weren’t currently curled up in one another’s arms. Weren’t tracing lines across sticky skin, pressing gentle kisses over sensitive flesh, whispering highlights of their lovemaking to each other.

Argument for the negative.

He sighed deeply, thoughts continuing to swirl as sleep commenced its possession.

Something she had said, tugged at his mind before unconsciousness took him. Through wretched sadness, she had told him that she wanted a family and love. She wanted more. More than just the X-Files? Could he play a part in this new pursuit of hers? If not him. Someone else? The very thought tied a knot so tight in his stomach he thought he might throw up. Before sleep claimed him, he knew, come hell or high water, he would open up to her. Begin the steps to lay everything bare. And see if she would accept his heart. The thought of it belonging to some else pulling the knot tighter still. 

…

The living room began to fill with warmth. First in colour, golden yellow; the resurrected flames chasing the cool blues from the room. Then heat lazily followed, rising to the ceiling; the room’s inhabitants having to bide their time to bask in its loveliness as it slowly sank back down.

Scully lowered herself onto the carpet beside the sofa. Beside Mulder; his waist. His hips. His … She knew what she was adjacent to. She was well aware of how acquainted she and that part of his body had become. The memories trickled across her skin, churned low in her belly, erupting an embarrassment or arousal, or both, like lightning through her body, causing a sharp intake of breath. Carefully exhaling, she leant her elbow on the lounge cushion by his thigh, her chin in her palm. Settled in and watched him sleep, her breathing steadying. His beautiful face. She loved that face. Even more; tranquil and sleep-addled. His bottom lip relaxed and inviting. She had kissed that mouth. Those lips. His tongue had slipped over and into her most intimate parts. She began to worry that the beating of her heart might wake him. Her eyes closed and she shook her head.

_It really happened. They really happened._

Her gaze drifted towards the fireplace. Flames danced to a hypnotically syncopated rhythm, dragging her to a place where her mind could wander without judgement or need for reason. She meandered from their recent liaison, voyaged across years of knowing Mulder. A scrapbook, a slideshow of their journey. A mystery tour. Magical, yes. It could be described as that. Many of the things Mulder had wanted Scully to believe, were so far beyond any rational science, an explanation of magic fit. But no. The magical part, she knew in her heart was _him_. Was them. Together. She had tried to deny it from the start. He had a pull on her, and she on him, she very nearly knew. The real mystery here was how they continued to deny it.

Earlier, lying awake alone in the safe cocoon of her warm sheets, cheeks cold against the winter air that had seeped in uninvited just before dawn, she reflected. The beginning of an understanding. If she told Mulder the truth - he listened. He responded. Didn’t look or run away from her. He wanted to know. Then, be there. Contemplating beyond his support over the past few days, he always had. Always, when she opened up, was there for her. When she pushed him off with her less and less convincing _‘I’m fine,’_ it became an affront to him. She felt it. Over the years, the meaning of that phrase uttered from her lips had morphed for him, she thought, from_ ‘Scully is private and thinks she doesn’t need anyone,’_ to _‘Scully doesn’t trust me.’_

She believed that was his interpretation. It wasn’t entirely wrong and wasn’t entirely right. It was no longer the former: not that she thought she didn’t need anyone. As for not trusting him. It wasn’t him. It was herself she didn’t trust. Didn’t believe that she could lean into him in moments of need. Rely on him, have him close, and then just … let it all go. Back to normal. Back to alone.

Her musings were pulled from the crackling blaze with a gentle brush of fingers to her shoulder, his sleep gravelled voice saying her name.

“Scully?”

She turned her head, looked at him and set her face, she hoped, to a soft openness.

“Morning,” she said in a tone that matched the quiet of the room.

“How are you feeling? Um … are you okay?” he bit his lip after he spoke, she felt a lingering embarrassment from him.

“Hi. Yeah. I’m okay,” she responded, an imploring gentleness about her. “Thank you.”

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he jerked his lips to the side, “… for last night. About,” he nodded to her, replaced a couple of words with a hard swallow, and continued, “… on your back.” He visibly winced. “How it … ended.”

“Mulder, really.” She gave a small shake of her head, not losing his gaze. “Please, it’s fine. Please … don’t feel bad.” She dropped her hand from her chin, let it fall to his blanketed thigh. He shot a glance at where it landed. She continued. “We didn’t talk about it, whether you’d,” she unconsciously nodded towards his groin, “you know… so…”

He let out a breath. Seemed to relax a little. “We’re not very good at that.”

“What?” Scully protested, “I thought we did … I thought it was …” she continued without thought before he cut her off – responding to the look of hurt beginning to dominate her features.

“No, no, no, no, Scully, no. Talking. _Talking._” He smiled and laughed gently, placing a hand around her upper arm. “We’re not very good at _talking._”

“Oh, um. Oh, no,” she stammered, shaking her head. “No, we’re not,” she agreed, sucking her lip back between her teeth.

“Last night though … I’d say yes,” he tried to bite the grin from his face. “At that, we were pretty fucking terrific.” Then he smiled, a full Mulder, shit-eating grin. She ducked her head. Tried to hide. He picked up her chin and her gaze with his finger. “Scully, you were amazing,” he declared, on his breath.

She looked across at him through her lashes. Every second of last night there. Right there between them. On their breath. Across their skin. Their naked bodies slipping against one another. Their moans of ecstasy as they brought each other to the edge, and over as they came undone. Their uninhibited, unbridled passion exposed. Their hearts beating a rare tune, a duet of love. A love, up until now, unrequited by stubbornness and denial.

They stared but did not speak.

One of them needed to speak.

They both went to.

“Scully…” and  
“God, why are we so bad at this?”

“I don’t know. I … I really don’t.” Mulder pondered, bewildered, propping himself up on an elbow. The hand from her arm let go, twirled a piece of hair beside her face. “It’s ludicrous because… Scully, I trust you more than I trust anybody else in the world.”

Leaning into his hand by her cheek, admitting, “me too,” she felt something lift. A self-imposed gag order beginning to disappear.

“Then why is it so hard for you to talk to me. Confide in me?” His hand moved from her hair to her cheek, stroking across her cheekbone.

“Um.” She took a breath. _The truth._ “I was thinking about that in bed this morning, actually.”

“Yeah? Did you … come to any conclusions?”

“Um. I’m scared, I guess. Mulder, to… um,” she licked over the inside of her top lip. Caught herself. “I don’t know…” she said, shaking her head. _Not quite ready for that order to be lifted complete, then._

Scully did know. And she was scared. She was sure Mulder loved her too, just wasn’t sure of the architecture of that love. Suspected it was by way of the X-Files. An extension of that. That perhaps an independent, in-love kind of love for her wasn’t there. And she was so daunted by her overwhelming, all-consuming love for him, that up until the previous evening she allowed herself to deny it. Now, it had been unleashed, and she had precious little time to put it back in its box and blame her grief for their night of passion.

Or… _or_… tell the truth.

“Are you scared of me?” He rolled on his side, tucked his elbow behind his head. Lent a little closer to her, concern furrowing his brow. “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not that, Mulder. No. I mean… you tell me right now that you trust me too, more than anyone, but … I feel …” She swallowed, looked around the room as if what she was trying to say might miraculously be scrawled across the wall. “You’re the same,” she said, continuing. “I don’t feel like you tell me everything, you know? You keep things from me. So, I don’t know how to be… where the line is with us?”

“Right. Your ova.” He nodded, smiled a sad kind of smile, drew his brows together. “I’m sorry.” He ran his fingertips over her hairline, swept them across her forehead, tucking her carmine locks behind her ear, remorseful. “And for any other bullheaded time I’ve kept something from you. But it was never because I didn’t trust you.” He stayed in her gaze. “So, what do you want to know?” He opened his arms. A gesture.

“No… that’s not it…”

“I’m serious, Scully. I’m an open book. Ask away.”

She blew imaginary hair from her forehead, sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. She hadn’t been able to articulate her feelings. So, she thought,_ I’ll play. _“Um … okay.” She clocked him her best Scully stare and accompanying eyebrow raise. “Tell me a secret. Something I don’t know … about you.”

He pursed his lips together and let them make a pop. “A secret?” he whispered.

“Mm-hmm,” she encouraged.

“Okay.” He knew what he was going to say. What he _had _to say. “This is a real doozy, so …” he paused. Looked across at her, through his top lashes. Seeking an affirmation that she was ready. For anything.

“Okay? I’m ready,” she told him in that unwavering way of hers, cocking her head to the side.

He took a prolonged audible intake of air, held it, and she could see him thinking. Contemplating the impact of what might come out of his mouth next. It was his breath, followed by a tentative, “okay … so … I was married once. Before.”

She assumed he was kidding, a smile beginning at the corners of her mouth, though he didn’t detect it. Then she saw he wasn’t, so quickly tried to arrange her face into something resembling the opposite of what she was experiencing. Her first feeling she confused as anger, then realised it was jealousy.

“Tru … truly?” she stumbled. Instantly pulling her body away from him. His hand dropped from her cheek. “Um, when? Who? Wh… how … how long?” The interrogation spilled out of her and then she bit back any further questions.

“Years ago. For … less than a year. Oh, god. It was a disaster, Scully. Worst decision…”

Then he was lost somewhere. Lost to the memory of a wife? _An ex-wife._ Something that appeared to be painful…

This was his biggest secret. And if he was honest, one he felt he should have told Scully about, years ago. Was surprised they’d made it this far and he never had. Of the myriad notions that ran through his mind, after leaving her bed last night, was not only that he loved her, that wasn’t new information, it was his decision to tell her. He wasn’t sure how, but he would confess that she was the most essential, crucial thing in his life. And that he wanted to spend the rest of it showing her. As he was falling asleep, proposing to her danced at the edge of consciousness. What would such a gesture mean? As he lay on her lounge, in the quiet amber glow from her dying fire, he knew that he had to tell her about Diana. An old truth before a new one. 

“…not the marriage part,” he clarified, “I don’t have a problem with marriage per se,” he felt he should tell her, “just the choice of partner.” He suddenly worried he shouldn’t have told her. That his timing was off. “She just wasn’t…” his eye’s lost Scully’s as he found the words. “Ultimately, she wasn’t satisfied with me. She didn’t believe in me. Wanted me to change … to change me.” Maybe he’d fucked up with his timing. But he felt a weight lift. He looked at her then, caught her eye. “You’ve never done that, Scully. To me.”

She didn’t answer. The look she was giving him - he didn’t know what it meant. He thought he knew every look of hers. Especially with last night’s additions. This was … he just had no idea what that look meant. What she was thinking.

It felt like an age before she spoke. It had been only a few seconds…

“Oh, so you’re comparing me to your ex-wife?” She grinned and hung her head, shaking it in disbelief at the perceived absurdity of it, “ex-wife … Mulder!” She finished, playfully shoving his shoulder, humour about her voice.

_Thank fuck_, he thought, at her demeanour.

They looked at one another. Smiles mirrored; almost indiscernible, but there, loving. Shared a connection with the smallest unfurling of the truth. Breathed together until their usual comfortable silence returned.

“Okay, now you…” he said, his grin widening.

“What?” Scully looked up at him, biting the smile from her lips.

“I showed you mine…” he waggled his eyebrows at her.

She returned him a brow. “A secret?”

“Yeah. A secret.”

Scully squinted in thought.

“Oh, um… well,” she ruminated. “Okay, in continuation of the matrimonial theme,” she raised that brow again, _(they could finish his conversation later)_. She continued, “I used to go out with one of my, much older, med school professors.” He narrowed his eyes, cocked his head for more information. “My _married_, med school professors.” She clarified.

“Oh.” Is all he said, letting her continue.

“I broke it off … when he told me he wanted to leave his wife for me…” She nodded at him. Mulder’s mouth dropped open, but no words came out. “That … and his disappointment, to rival my father’s, at my choice to become an FBI agent.”

“Scully,” Mulder breathed.

“Yeah?” she felt his eyes on her like a forbidden touch. Seering her flesh in a most wicked, delicious way. His expression was a mix of amazement and disbelief, rather than anything judgemental. “Shocked?” she simply asked.

“Would it be wrong of me to say, pleasantly surprised?”

She laughed. “Surprised, yes, but pleasantly?”

“Well, you present as pretty near perfect, Scully…” he smiled at her and reached out his hand, ran a thumb across her lips. Let his palm linger at her cheek longer than necessary.

She didn’t respond, he didn’t push. This was a game of trust. There would be time, they both knew, to get to the bottom of these brand-new bombshells. Some more prompts for their imaginary pack of ‘conversation starter’ cards, saved for long monotonous car trips and airport diners.

“Your turn.” She kept his gaze. Looked entirely comfortable with his hand now gently stroking her cheek.

He took his hand back, slowly. “Oh, me? Um … hmm … I pretended to be allergic to cats to break up with a girlfriend once.”

She huffed a laugh, matching the tone with which the story was told. “You liar,” she grinned. He returned it and then nodded to her.

_Her turn._

“Um okay … continuing with the pet theme … I once,” she began and then stopped dramatically, the corners of her mouth downturned in an unmistakable sad face. She continued, “…murdered a rabbit. Oh, probably committed manslaughter.” She thought further, adding, “rabbit-slaughter?”

“Um … _bunnyicide_?” He offered.

They both chuckled.

“What happened?” he encouraged.

“Um. I was really little. Four maybe five.” She licked her lip, poised to tell the particulars of the beast’s unfortunate demise. “Even all these years later, I can’t shake that image. Or the smell.” She disappeared in time for a moment. Screwed up her nose. The olfactory sense so entwined with memory.

“Smell?” Mulder queried.

“Maggots.” He screwed up his nose. She was back there again. The basement of her childhood home. Stumbling back from her treasure box. From where she encountered the exact opposite of her intentions. She wanted for all the world to protect that tiny creature. To not let her big brother follow through with his threats to harm it: cook it, put it in a stew. Even if it meant she put herself between it and Bill. She was prepared to take a punishment instead.

That tiny rabbit with the blue-grey fur, softer than cotton candy. Its big trusting, frightened eyes. And she hurt it. Killed it. A terrified, wretched death locked in a lunch box, no light, no air.

“I thought I was protecting it. From Bill.” She shook her head, herself out of her recollection, looked at Mulder and explained, “I got a pet bunny. A friend’s rabbit had a litter, and I was allowed to keep one. He wanted it. Threatened to kill it. So, I hid it.”

“Hid? Where?” Mulder queried tentatively, already knowing the response would not be good.

“Inside a metal lunch case.” Scully’s expression was pained. “In the basement. I left water and some grass… just … no air.” She looked guilty. Pushed her bottom lip out into a sad pout.

“Aw, Scully.” He smoothed his palm across her cheek once again, matched Scully in a sympathetic pout before they both turned their expressions into gentle smiles.

“Yeah,” she said. “I do love my big brother, but … God, growing up … I was so scared of him.”

“I’m scared of him now.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, allowing herself to laugh.

“No, I’m not,” he agreed. Taking his hand from her face and finding hers. She took it, affirming his grip with a squeeze.

“I think that might have played a part in my desire to be a doctor - to protect. A penance, maybe? To save that little soul.” He brought the back of her hand to his mouth. Kissed her. Held his lips there.

“That must have been just awful for you. Poor little Scully.” He kissed her hand once more.

He loved her more after that story. If that was possible. Wondered if she remembered shooting at a snake and killing that too. A tale her mother had told him when she was missing, abducted. He hadn’t disclosed to Scully all of his interactions he’d had with the other Scully women during her absence. His recollection of that story was that the snake’s death was more ‘murder’ than accidental, though. And that Scully actually stopped when she became aware of what the snake was going through. He settled this new story into his Scully file: her MD origin story.

“You?”

“Alright.” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, then continued. “This time, though, you ask me a question. Something you want to know.”

She smiled at him. Nervously. Shuffled closer to him, moving onto her knees, pulling her hand, and his, back from his mouth. Holding them over her chest.

“Okay. Um … I want you to tell me…” She leaned closer still. This time it was her turn to brush a phantom hair from his brow. He let his eyes languidly blink closed at her touch. She continued her question, and he found her. Watched as she spoke. “…you said last night that … _I could never really know what it was like for you_ … when … I nearly died.” Her eyes searched his face and his eyes, darting between them. “Tell me. I want to understand.”

His breath began to quicken. He had wanted to open up to Scully. To tell her everything. Anything he had ever refrained from telling her. _Look how keeping the discovery of her ova from her had worked out. _If they were to ever stand a chance to be something more than FBI partners, friends, he knew he had to be honest. But, he now had to ask himself if this confessional extended to the truth about one particularly dark, dark night. If he should tell her that only months ago he sat in his unlit apartment … with a gun and a fatal intention? The thought of living without her, not an option.

He sat up. Swung a leg to the floor, the other remained, bent on the sofa. He let her keep possession of his hand while he shifted in his seat. He tugged her arm. Inviting her up. She seamlessly sat next to him. Close. She didn’t let her eyes leave his face. Once beside him, she wrapped a second hand around his and squeezed. He took it as the green light he needed. The encouragement to speak.

He couldn’t look at her, though. Found a spot on the carpet and took a few slow breaths, his mouth in a loose ‘O’. Gathering the nerve.

Then he said it.

“I wanted to kill myself. I … I very nearly did.” He swallowed. Quickly bit his lip and continued. “Held a gun to my head…”

Scully opened her mouth. Her forehead furrowed in disbelief. “What?” came out on her breath.

He turned, faced the side of her body, his knee bending up and spreading across her lap. And then it spilled. “Everything that had happened to you was my fault,” he sucked in a sharp breath. “It was all my fault, Scully.” Tears began to gather in wait, an illusion his eyes were threatening to spill from their sockets. Drip out like a Dali painting onto the desert of his cheeks. “You mean more to me than … anything, Scully. Ever. I couldn’t think of you not being here. On this Earth. And to know, that my stupid fucking bull-headed quest brought you there. Scull…” He blinked the tears from their dam. But she was there, quickly interrupting their pilgrimage, thumbs on either cheek, swiping. Holding his face as he began to sob.

“… I … couldn’t…” he tried to speak as emotion shuddered through his breath.

“Hey, hey … Mulder, it’s okay. I’m okay.” She moved one of her hands to grip his again. Turned her body to his, pushed closer in.

“Even thinking about doing that … that I was going to leave you.” His bottom lip trembled. “… leave you alone to die, alone …” He sucked his lips into his mouth. “I was so lost… just … so lost.”

“Shhh,” she cooed, lifting herself up off the seat, up enough to kiss his cheek. To hold her lips there. She lowered herself back beside him. Closer still. Held the back of his hand to her lips while he caught his breath.

“What stopped you?” she gently questioned.

He huffed a laugh. “The phone. Someone called.” He stopped talking and closed his eyes. Put the heel of his other hand between his brows. “I don’t know.” He swallowed, gathered himself. “I couldn’t give up. On you. I … didn’t want to be a coward.” He laughed. A pathetic laugh. Shook his head and wiped his eyes, raised his chin and met her eyes. “I’d lost the person I’d loved the most in the world … once before. And … I … I couldn’t… do that again,” he finished as his breath hitched.

_Loved._ Most in the world.

She leaned across and pressed her forehead to his. Held him around his neck and he leant into her too. They stayed there like that. Breathing together. Holding on.

The room was warmer now, the flames and winter sun colluding to dissolve the cold night air. Scully’s hands dropped to Mulder’s clavicles, hanging onto his shoulders, his fingers curled through the hair at the nape of her neck. His breathing now matching hers.

She spoke. So quietly that if their foreheads not been touching, he may not have heard.

“I find it difficult to tell you things because… I’m afraid of…” She stopped herself, only for a second. Took a slow breath and licked a tear from the corner of her mouth, unsure when she had begun to cry. “Of my feelings,” she continued, “of … my feelings for you.” A deep inhale once again. “When it comes to us, I just …”

_It was time for her to be bold. _

“…I guess I’ve been debating for a long while if - _it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all…_?”

_“Scully.”_ It sounded like a prayer. A question. An answer.

And then it was quiet again as they leaned back. Separated from one another. Arms dragging from shoulders and necks. Pooled together in a tangle between them. Eyes locked. He looked like he was about to kiss her. Lean in with his reply.

She stood.

“I might … I can … we can keep talking,” she reassured him, “I just … let me make us some tea,” she finished, removing herself from him. From the precipice of a possible monumental decision, she thought she had no business making in the early hours of the morning, after a night of forbidden, grief-stricken passionate sex. A fork in the road that came up so quickly there was no time to slow to take the corner with any grace.

She made her way to the kitchen.

_Fuck._

That was more information than she knew how to deal with. She had spent all night and all morning trying to figure out how to move forward with him if he didn’t want her, not a thought spared for if he did. He hadn’t actually said that though just admitted that he loved her. _Most in the world actually._ But did that mean…

Standing at the counter before two mugs and a boiling kettle, thinking, she didn’t hear him rise from the sofa and move to the kitchen, slip right behind her. She felt his arms, though. Felt them snake around her waist. His fingers sliding into her robe and brushing the bare skin of her abdomen.

“Scully. I don’t want tea.”


	12. Better to have loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much @alienqueequeg @absolutetosh and @Misha_and_fam (twitter) for the beta and @purrykat and @iloveurscratchybeard for the beta over the course of the story. 🥰 I couldn’t have done it without you. (The final edit is mine, so any mistake are on me.)

His voice, a growl in a low baritone, telling her he didn’t want the tea she was making, sparked something low inside.

“You don’t?” She queried, remaining engulfed in his firm grip, no attempt to wriggle free. In fact, exposed more of her neck to him, leaning her back flush with his torso, his hips.

“No.” He responded, resolutely.

She stopped herself from asking_ ‘What do you want?’_, instead, “coffee?”

“Mmm-mm,” he answered in the negative.

_No coffee. He doesn’t want coffee._

“I want…”

“Mm-hmm?” she encouraged.

“… to tell you another secret,” he whispered directly into her ear before moving his lips onto her earlobe, sucking it into his mouth.

“What?” she wondered, adding, “tell me.”

His breath continued to huff onto her neck. His heart beating a rhythm across her shoulders._ Or was that her own heart? _

“I loved licking you last night, Scully.” _‘Loved’_, low and drawn out. “Licking you down there.” His tongue darted out and swiped across her skin, over her thrumming pulse. “_Everywhere_ down there.”

Her knees buckled. Actually gave way. She didn’t collapse, such was his grip on her.

His hand journeyed further in her robe, brushing the underside of her breast.

“I loved feeling you come in my mouth, on my fingers.”

Her head rolled back onto his shoulder. His tongue traced a line down her neck, as his hand moved up to cup her breast.

“I loved kissing you…” He proclaimed, and she felt her desire wet between her legs, no underwear for it to soak. He went on, “…sucking, oh my god, sucking your beautiful breasts.”

His fingers located a nipple.

“I felt you’d given yourself to me, Scully. Like no one else ever has before. I … I can’t quite describe it.”

She wanted to tell him that it was he who’d gifted himself to her. Gave her his body, his self; a replacement for her grief.

His fingers gently began to roll and flick as his lips made their way back up, kissing along her jaw.

“Scully,” he said under his breath. “Look at me.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder. Turned in his grasp. His arms, still around her. He held her, limp in his steady embrace. Head falling down to meet hers. Their faces close, eyes locked as he panted, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Waiting for permission to do just that, he cupped both sides of her face, fingers curling around the nape of her neck, thumbs affectionately caressing her cheeks. Approval came with a lick of her lips, her gaze dropping to his mouth and back to his eyes. Slowly, ever so slowly, he inched towards her; her chin angled up in greeting. His mouth gradually opened at the same speed. Their lips touched, and he continued into her, heads tilted, their jaws wedging together. Tongues entered familiarly, probing and swirling, her arms hooked around his neck, and she pulled him closer.

Lips locked in a passionate reunion, he bent at the waist and swept an arm behind her knees, scooping her up, breaking the kiss to walk them towards her bedroom. 

Cradled in his arms, the throb of his heart began to pulse away the overwhelming feelings their confessions had left.

Maneuvering her toes first through her doorway, he was hit with Scully's scent. Detected their musky sex in the air. The room looked entirely different from the one they were in the previous evening. Bed made. Last night’s wild and disorderly sex, uncrumpled from the bedclothes. The covers she had screwed up in her fists as she came only hours before, were now stretched and tucked so tightly a coin would bounce on them. The dark moodiness had disappeared, replaced by the suns rays, cutting through the blinds.

Mulder lowered Scully down, gently unfolded her onto the bed. And there she lay, stretched out in her robe in the centre. Watching him. Half her bottom lip jammed between her teeth. One knee bent up, the fabric pooling at the top of her ivory thigh. His beautiful, sexy partner, back in her bedroom with him. Waiting for him on her bed. An amorous look in her eye.

The art of hiding a boner from one Dana Scully, as Mulder had done so frequently, was a skill he had perfected. This morning, as he stood by her bed, wearing only his boxers, he didn’t hide it. He enjoyed watching her watching him, growing, hardening. Her gaze trailing from his face, down over his chest, his torso. Down, down to the fabric, tenting his now dripping hard-on.

Letting her bottom lip pop from her mouth, she slowly blinked and told him to “take them off”.

So, he did. Fast.

“Now, come here.”

He did that too. Began to crawl his way over to her.

“I have a secret,” she teased as he had almost reached her.

“Do tell,” he smirked, hovering over her; his body, not his weight, covering her as he bent down and kissed her neck.

“You could have come inside me last night." She admitted, letting her lips brush the shell of his ear. “I wanted you to come inside me, Mulder.”

Lifting his head from the crook of her neck, mouth agape, he regarded her. Titillation danced across his gaze, a grin curled the corners of his lips.

“I wanted to feel it. Feel you.” She kept her eyes on is as he nestled in beside her.

“Okay,” he returned with a megawatt Mulder smile. “Duly noted,” he continued, draping his body alongside hers; stretched down the bed. His warm skin against her robe.

Faces so close, she lifted ever so slightly off the bed to kiss him, he leant down to meet her. Their lips merged once again. Not frenzied. Slow and gentle. Mouths welcoming. Lips gliding, tongues lapping and savouring.

Their faces parted, leaving behind two gratified grins. His fingers found her waist, the sash of her robe. He pulled an end of the haphazard bow, and it slipped open, slid through the knot, and he unwrapped her like a Christmas present. The sides of her robe opened for him - the only gift he would want to receive for the rest of his life. 

“Scully,” he swooned, unable to keep his lust at bay, stop his eyes from sweeping over her naked form. “I can't quite believe I get to see you like this.”

Tearing his eyes away, he gently touched his lips to hers once again. There was something reverent to his kiss. Meaningful. An affirmation in the joining of delicate skin to delicate skin, soft mailable flesh beneath, pressing together in an oath. _'I love you’s’_ hidden before within conversations and confessions that could so easily slip through the cracks, forgotten or allowed to be misconstrued. _(So very them.)_ Now. Here. Their bodies would tell, say what they always failed to with words. Last evening about freedom. Becoming familiar with one another’s bodies; lust and desire. Exploration and discarding of inhibitions. Today destined to be a manifestation of their love in the physical.

He carefully stroked her brow, still kissing her lips. Her jaw hinged wider, and his tongue surged in, seeking the depths of her mouth, accompanied by little Scully moans. Licking and brushing, tongues entwined together inside, their lips adhered. Fingertips swept across her temple, her cheek, her jaw. Small hands retaliating; threading through his hair, pulling him into her, onto her, and over her. His sounds of rapture joining hers.

Pulling back, after several lingering pecks, he looked down her body, his fingers trailing his gaze. Down between the valley of her breasts, fingers dragging. Hands raking over her naked torso, her breasts. Brushing her nipples. She watched him looking at her body before his hazel eyes sunk closed.

A deep breath in and he was surrounded. Other senses taking over. Everyday Scully scent in combination with her arousal, her wanting, engulfed him. Her breath on and in his ear. Touch. The feel of her. That had always been forbidden, but for a cheek, a tendril of hair, that special place on her lower back, over fabric. And her hands, in times overwhelming; sickness, loss, desperation and any strange, unique horror of the X-Files. What happened these past days, last night; an anomaly. This morning too, all of Scully before him, waiting to be caressed.

Fingertips trickled, traced across flesh, skin like satin, supple and smooth; glided over with little resistance. Velvet soft nipples, beginning to pucker under his stimulations. Gentle contours of her midriff, up then down the subtle hills and valleys of her taut abdominal muscles. She tensed beneath his touch, her breath; small quivering pants in his ear. Her lips found his neck and sucked while his journey continued, eyes remaining closed. Down over her stomach to her soft, trimmed hair. He couldn’t help but picture Scully, clippering herself down there. _Did she have electric trimmers? Use scissors? Did someone at a salon do that type of thing?_ It intrigued and turned him on in equal parts. The mystery of Scully's grooming habits added to the list of Scully things he felt he now had permission to ask; some he was hoping to answer for himself, here in this bed.

He wasn’t aiming there; nevertheless, her clitoris was in the direct path of his index finger. She jerked slightly and whimpered before he knew he’d hit different terrain. Eyes opened, he continued. Slipped over her sweet spot, adding a finger and sliding down between her folds.

“So wet,” came out of his mouth before he thought. A feeling of apprehension followed, doubt that it was the right thing to say, immediately dissipated by her next words.

“For you. Always for you,” she confessed in a whisper and spread her legs. Opened herself to him.

_Always._

“Agh… Jesus,” his response to her actions, her words. She tilted her pelvis forward, causing the tips of his fingers to enter her further, through no purpose of his own. He swirled around her entrance, indulging in the slippery warm heat of her.

Her eyes drifted closed, as his swept along her body. In the light of day, she was a vision. Her head tilted back, jaw slightly slack, berry pink lips glistening, one hand resting at her hip, the other dragging through his hair. Her lithe body, firm beneath her skin, luminous in the winter morning light. Unguarded and raw, laying open in anticipation. Waiting for him and trusting him implicitly. Her self on offer, his mind a frenzy. He had to have her. Take possession of her pleasure and honour her body.

Pressing his fingers further inside of her, he lowered his mouth over one of her apricot-coloured nipples, half erect, half relaxed; craving further attention. Capturing the peak of her breast, he heard her lustful response, felt her back arch into his licks and nips and swirls. He imagined her now hardening nipple, sliding against his wet tongue, feeling similar sensations to his fingers, pushing into her tight, hot pussy. He began a slow beat, pulsing in and out as he suckled her breast. Affirmations from her; hips swaying in time, her hand on the back on his head, holding him close.

“Mmmm, mmm, Mulder. Oh … that feels … ohhh,” she panted, her hand moving from her hip to her bare breast. Nimble fingers tweaked and rolled and pulled. He noticed the pressure she was applying and mirrored it with his teeth and tongue.

Adding a third finger, knuckle deep, he sped up, into her. Massaged her g-spot firmly, his thumb in the exact position to begin on her clit. So he did.

He felt her legs part further, knees drop boneless to the bed, against his torso. He lifted her calf, draped her over his hip, spreading her, completely. Opened. Exposed. For him. Nothing in their way.

_And it was everything._

Wanting to watch her, he replaced his mouth with his fingers, swiping back and forth across her nipple, kneading the volume of her breast, pinching and pulling. From her sounds and her internal muscles, her stiffening body, he could feel her beginning to come apart. He brought her to the edge and then stopped. Paused her ascension. Held her down, fingers stilled inside, fingertips carefully circling her breast. Gauging her breath, her contractions; feeling her abating. She panted, eyes shut tight, lips licked, and body relaxed. Once equilibrium had almost returned, he began again.

Gently and slowly, building the pace. In and out. Rubbing, flicking. Squeezing, pinching. Though he didn’t let up this time. Pumping and thrusting, pushing and pulsing. Running his fingers along the ridge inside, adjacent his thumb outside; swirling and grazing, vigorously, over her clitoris. Her body writhed beneath his touch. Rippled like a wave.

Directly in front of his eyes, he saw her ruining her nipple, so he imitated, pincered down hard, pulling back up and letting go. Massaged and grabbed at her flesh, kneading her. Propped up now beside her, elbow bent sharply, arm thrusting ferociously between her thighs. Harder and harder he pumped into her. Over and over her swollen clit. Walls spasmed, clamping around his digits as they conspired with his thumb to tear her open. The sounds of him, in command of her cunt, spilled into the room. Sloppy and wet. Now joined by her feral whimpers and pants. To the edge of her climax once more. And then she flew.

And she flew, and she flew, and she flew. “Oh. My. God.” Screamed into the room. Sounds of ecstasy followed. Eyes clamped. Hands desperately gripping whatever was closest; the bedspread, his bicep, fingernails into flesh.

Coming apart beside him on the bed, she was divinity. The most exquisite display he had ever witnessed. Her breasts gently quivered with her aftershocks. Red hair un-Scully’ed across her forehead, her pillow. His hand sandwiched between her clenched thighs, an erratic rhythm grappled around his fingers, still inside.

Regular breath and cognisance, leisurely returned as she trembled back to him. Mulder by her side, hard-on crushed to the edge of her hip, head propped up on his elbow, other hand cupping her pussy. Fingers withdrawn, glistening with her arousal. Scully draped on her back beside him, legs still spread, one still hooked over him. Her eyes opened, sheepishly, a pink hue painting her cheeks. Biting the shit-eating grin from her expression, her bottom lip wedged firmly between her teeth.

“Hi,” he greeted, smiling softly.

She covered her eyes with her hand, letting go of his arm, evidence of her grip; small crescent indents.

“Hi,” she responded from behind her palm, releasing her lip and that grin.

Retrieving his hand, he quickly licked her essence from his fingers, then reached across and gently took hers, removed it from her face. She looked across at him.

“Fuck, Mulder. What the hell was that?”

He kissed her forehead. Stroked her hair. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, I’d say.”

Any spark of embarrassment or vulnerability disappeared with his reply.

He brushed the hair from her forehead. Traced her features. Her brow and nose, her pout, blood-red from their time between her gnashing teeth. “God, I love your lips”, he breathed, biting his own. “They’re perfect,” he whispered as he ran a finger along them again, etched the smile his words elicited.

Lifting her leg from his hip and placing it on the bed beside him, he rolled over her, settling on top, between her thighs. She shuffled, made more space for him, knees bracketing his hips, pulling him into a searing kiss. Passionate and deep.

Hovering an inch from her mouth, he ventured, “so, last night ... you alluded to maybe having had thoughts of me,” he quickly pecked her lips, “of the sexual persuasion…,” he raised a brow.

She returned his delicate kiss, answered him, her lips now at his ear, “I might have.” Another kiss, to his cheek this time, a nibble to his earlobe. “To be honest Mulder,” she punctuated her explanation by reaching between them and wrapping her fingers loosely around the base of his cock, ever so gently stroking him. “I’m not sure I have ever been as imaginative as you.” She dragged the head of his dripping erection between her folds, eyes sinking closed. “I just wanted you in my bed,” she finished, opening her lids, pulling back enough to gaze at his dazzled expression. Continuing to caress his cock, coating him with her slick.

“Oh, Jesus. Scully, really?”

“Mm-hmm.” She affirmed.

“You’ve wanted me here?”

“Mm-hmm.” She confirmed, adding a nod.

“How … how often?” He stumbled.

“Hmm,” she pondered. “Let’s just say it would be easier to count the times I _didn’t_ think about you being here.”

He held himself above her, looking down, a devilish Mulder smirk beginning at the corners of his mouth. “Well, you’ve got me in your bed?” He thrust into her hand. “So...” Thrust again. “...what can I do for you, Miss Scully?" he finished with a twinkle in his eye, that smile fully established. Scully returned his mischievous grin, then ran her hand down his cheek, her countenance now reverent.

A need for him washed over her. An urgent want to have him inside, to feel the weight of him blanket her. To become one, once again. A different yearning from last night. Not so he could fuck her feelings away. Not so she could lose herself in him. No. Perhaps to find herself. Assuredly to love him.

Cupping his jaw in her hand, she answered, sure and true. “Just make love to me, Mulder.”

Scully’s words lingering in the space between them, a comfortable warmth setting over their naked bodies, heated skin flush together. He searched her face, awe and wonderment engulfing his features. Moisture collecting at his lashes. His partner beneath him. His best friend. _His_ Scully. He swiped an errant tear from her temple and lowered his face, kissed her. Like old lovers connecting, her familiar lips, welcoming. Soft flesh, wet and salty; their combined emotion, slippery and sincere.

Lips parted, foreheads connected, joining below.

Looking down their bodies he surged forward, sinking himself into her. Groaned as he disappeared between her velvet folds. Felt her tilt in reception, an inviting angle to receive him until she was full. 

She felt him pressed against her; still there as they collected themselves. She gathered her fingers around the nape of his neck and pulled him closer. Her pelvis began to swing, mesmerically pulsing herself onto him. He, like a dance partner, joined her melody.

Back and forth, together apart. A lazy pace, into and out of her. Passionately they kissed. Longing and lovingly. Sucking and biting and nibbling one another’s tongues, lips. Her fingers dragged across his scalp, down his neck, nails scraped over his smooth muscular back, his arse. Grabbing on. Pulling him into her. He lifted from their kiss; an openness and vulnerability settling across his features. A loving smile. He brushed his fingers across her hairline, dipped one between her lips, her tongue circling.

As they pulsed together, her hands gripped his arse. Legs hooked around his waist. He held himself up with one arm, hand caressing her hair, the other journeyed from her lips, down her neck, outlined her clavicle. Cupped and fondled her breasts. Their eyes affixed in their own exchange. A silent conversation about pleasure and connection. About pasts and futures. About truth.

The metronome of their lovemaking accelerated as his fingers continued to the juncture of their bodies. He found her, swollen and wanting and delicately began to tease a pattern over her clit. Plucking and circling at her between them. She continued to grab at his arse, deepening his thrusts with every handful. Their bodies began to slap together. In and out, swirling and rubbing, pumping and surging, over and again. A cadence of moans joining together in song. Last evening's symphony of overwhelming sensations, different now, distilled into a duet. In perfect harmony, rising as one in crescendo. Higher and higher, faster and faster. Her euphoria engulfed her. Her walls embraced him, pulsing around him, beckoning him to let go. With her. To soar. And he did. Spilled into her. Hot and fast and full. She arched into him and away from him, her climax torn from her. He leaned over, resting his weight across her, shaking and jerking, an encore of thrusts into her body in rapture. He covered her mouth with a kiss. Tasted her pleasure on his tongue.

Bodies moved as one through muscles flexed in ecstasy. Moans, and names and exaltation, to boneless on the bed. Hot breath panted into the air.

Chestnut and carmine locks, messily splayed on a shared pillow. Breasts and pecs glistening with sweat, rose and fell in synchronicity. Limbs tangled, bodies still sloppily joined below. Eyes blinked open and faces rolled in, lips grinning and touching gently, resting together.

He slowly faded from her, softened and slipped from inside of her as his fingers lightly trailed across her warm, salty skin. “Scully.” His soft, honey voice dripped into the room. Pulling his face back to look at her, continuing “can I …,” and then he stopped.

She rolled her body to his, he mirrored her. Limbs entwined further. Smoothing his hair from his brow, running her thumb over his bottom lip, she coaxed, “what, what is it?”

“Scully,” he repeated, “I wanna be that guy.” Her brow furrowed in slight confusion. “The one I said would be so lucky to have you because,” he bit his bottom lip, let it go and smiled, so broadly at her. “You are … all of those things I told you last night; smart and caring and beautiful. The most amazing woman.”

She didn’t speak. That crinkle across her brow morphed from confusion to concern.

“Hey,” he said, trying to erase the furrow with the pad of his thumb, then attempting with calming words. “It's me. Don't clam up on me now,” he implored.

“Mulder. I don’t want you to do that.” She was doing her very best not to hurt his feelings, but at the same time trying to be sincere. She chewed on her lip before continuing. “To … say these things … out of an obligation, you know? I know you blame yourself for the things that happen to me, you told me so this morning. And last night I told you no man would want me...” She was looking at him, brows raised expectantly, like he could fill in the blanks. His mouth agape, no words came though, so she finished. “I don't need your pity to lessen your guilt." She couldn’t read his face. Thought she might have been too blunt, so she softly caressed his cheek. "You don't owe me anything, Mulder." She explained as if she were calmly trying to debunk an X-File. _(She was usually wrong about those too.)_

“Is that what you think? That I asked to be your … significant other, that person in your life, out of pity? Obligation?" He was horrified.

Realisation of her perspective washed over him like a frigid bucket of water dumped on his head. He sat up, bringing her with him, faced her and held onto both of her hands, pulling her to him further. "Scully, let me be clear. Please, don’t misconstrue. _I love you._ You are not a consolation prize. If anyone is a consolation prize here, it’s me.”

He desperately searched her expression, darting between her beautiful sea-blue eyes as they began to blur behind a pool of moisture.

“You love me?”

“Yes, I love you. I'm _in love_ with you.”

She smiled and laughed and cried and kissed him all at the same time. Said, “I love you too,” with her lips crushed to his.

They sunk down onto the bed again. Tangled again. Kissed again.

“Scully,” Mulder said, pulling back to see her. “Tennyson was right;” he smiled, _“Better to have loved.”_

She nodded. Smiled too. Kissed him. A most contented look upon her face as she melted back into his embrace. Into her sheets, wrapped in their confessions of love.

They made love once more, as slow and poignant as before, this time littered with a thousand _‘I love you’s’._

…

After, unable to wait for the next long drive or time to kill in an airport diner, she ventured, “Mulder. You were married. _Married! _I have … many questions," she teased, smirked at him from between his thighs, chin resting on her hands on his chest. He, lazily playing with her hair.

He sucked his lips between his teeth, hiding a smirk, “Scully,” he said, “I think I'll take that cup of tea now.”

**~THE END~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I’m finished. What a ride. I had no idea where this would end up when I began it as a short for Ficober last year. I do love these two characters and always wished we could see more emotion and tender personal conversations in the show. So, I will just continue to write them.
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful women who read this story first, edited, offered thoughts and talked me back from the edge a few times. (@alienqueequeg @absolutetosh @Misha_and_fam (twitter) @purrykat @iloveurscratchybeard)
> 
> Thank you @admiralty-xfd for always answering my random, canon specific questions 🥰
> 
> Thank you to you, and all of the other lovely readers for taking this journey with me.


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